Legend of the King
by JCLeo
Summary: ACT I: "The Physician's Apprentice" - Isolated beneath the earth, Arthur must now decide what to do about an all-too-familiar, insidious threat.
1. From the Sky, a Fire Fell

I: From the Sky, a Fire Fell

_In a land of myth and a time of magic, the destiny of a great kingdom rests on the shoulders of a young man. His name…Merlin._

Summary/Introduction:

_Can__ you feel it, Pendragon, closing in all around you? The fire has been awakened; the sins of the past have finally caught up to you. Soon you will be called to account for all of the atrocities you and your father have committed. This I promise you. Though I am but one amongst many, there are hundreds more who were purged away by Camelot's cruel tyrant! And they cry out for release..._

___Look now to your defenses, Arthur, for those seeking vengeance will soon gather at your gates._

There is a stillness in the air. A reverent calm. Far over the white-tipped mountains to the east, the sun begins to break; life stirs from its slumber. A tranquil serenity washes over the land, banishing the night, and the light of the morning star breaks the plane of the Earth once more.

A new day dawns. This day will be remembered. It will change everything.

But do not fall prey to the lie, for this is morn is merely a cold and ominous precursor - the calm before the storm.

The star has fallen. Now, this great evil rises. As the bright and golden future of his kingdom slowly begins to crumble, Arthur's relationships, his loyalties, and his courage shall be tested. And yet, the greatest question remains unanswered: Without Merlin, his most trusted and loyal friend, at his side, will Arthur triumph over the evil before him, or watch helplessly as his kingdom is consumed by destruction?

The board is set...the pieces are moving.

_Think of my acts as you will, but do not doubt the reality: the war for Camelot's soul has already begun.  
_

_And you are hopeless to stop it.  
_

* * *

Prologue

All was quiet, still, and unaware. The sun had finally descended below the horizon, its warm rays slipping behind the mountains, giving way to the blackness of night. A gentle, cool breeze whipped through the otherwise still atmosphere, slithering along like a serpent, chilling any person it came across, yet there were none, save two.

Through the cold darkness, two cloaked figures moved hurriedly down a path on the edge of a high cliff, the leafless forest painted behind them; they glided like ghosts, as if their feet weren't even touching the ground, as they traveled onwards towards the peak. Black hoods concealed their faces, and from a distance they were virtually undetectable, blurring with the night.

They moved side by side, step by step in unison, making haste down the path until they rounded a corner of bare trees and slowly slid to a stop. Their frames were clearer now, two men: on the left, a tall, thinner figure, and on his right, a shorter, stouter one. In stature, they appeared as opposites, but together they stood stoic; the icy winter air seemed to have no effect on them, for their gaze was drawn by something in the distance.

They looked out over the cliff side, fixated on the wood below them; in their eyes reflected a faint glow of light illuminating from a crater in the middle of the frozen ground. The two looked on, staring out across the tundra-like land, curious as to what lay before them.

Subtle clouds of frozen air emitted from underneath their hoods, and the taller man on the left tilted his head to the side slightly out of curiosity: for there was no other source of life anywhere close to the crater; the forest was silent, and the only light came from within, a soft, pulsating glow.

"Oh my."

"Well? Do you think it to be true, Iseldir?" The smaller of the two inquired.

"It is what he suspected."

"So, you confirm it?"

"Yes, he was correct, Accolon," affirmed the other. "Thank you for bringing me here this night friend. I have not seen such a sight in so many years." Iseldir approached the edge of the cliff, crunching the icy grass beneath his boot, seemingly entranced by the light that came from the forest.

"And do you know what it means?"

"We cannot tell for sure. Perhaps the Elder will know more."

Accolon joined Iseldir upon the peak, muttering beneath his hood. "There is no doubt the sound of the impact was heard throughout the forest, and it is unwise to assume that we were the only ones who noticed it."

Iseldir nodded. "There is a military outpost not far from here; the knights will soon be on their way."

"And with them, I'm certain, King Arthur. We best not be here when the Knights of Camelot descend," he said. "Still, we should send word."

"With haste," replied Iseldir. "He waits for us now, below the mountain pass near the valley."

And just like that, the two men vanished from the mountaintop as quickly as they had arrived, sinking back into the dark depths of the forest – never making a sound, and bearing urgent news.

* * *

"Are you sure, Arthur?"

The king stood proudly by the window, looking out into the square – the heart – of his thriving city. The years had been kind to Arthur; his chiseled features had remained the same, although he was now more seasoned and endowed with the knowledge and experience of being a king. His blonde hair was tossed, as it mostly always was these days, and his cheeks were shaded by a light stubble. In truth, he hardly appeared to have aged a day. Now, though, he walked with a more confident demeanor – as a man comfortable with who he was.

The day was drawing to a close, and the last of Camelot's fair citizens had begun to retreat to their homes for the night. Arthur noticed children chasing each other around in circles, their arms outstretched as they tried to catch one another, laughing as they did so, and their parents making idle conversation as they tended to their work. Above all, though, he was drawn to their smiles. They were living in peace.

"This is the right thing to do, Guinevere, for the people, and Camelot." The king responded soundly. "My father was a wise man and a good king," he continued, catching the attention of his wife as she neatly adjusted their bed. "But he was wrong to tyrannize against these people simply because of who they are."

Gwen smiled: this is why she loved him so. "And it is that there – your kindness, that has sent a resurgence through this kingdom. We all owe you our livelihoods." The new Queen of Camelot had also settled gracefully into her role; the once semi-awkward serving girl had transformed through the years into a confident and strong woman who presided with strict authority and royal conduct, but always managed to maintain her sense of genuine care and love for her people.

"It is my duty to protect this kingdom, my responsibility. Who would it fall to if not me?" He noticed her brow furrow slightly at his apparent cynicism. "But I understand what you say, Gwen…and all that I ask is for the support of each citizen in striving to build a just world."

Gwen's frown turned to a smile once more; she liked when he abandoned his callous demeanor that sometimes showed. It was just one of the inevitabilities of being king. She knew he was stressed, constantly concerned for the wellbeing of his kingdom, and that, at times, bled through into a seemingly emotionless front. She finished fluffing the pillows and set them in place, and Arthur smiled to himself: After all these years, she never once stopped helping others.

"Come here," the king said, and his queen obliged, closing the gap between them. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and Arthur pulled her close, holding her tight against him.

"I love you, Arthur," her words were soft and sweet, bringing a warmth to his heart.

"And I, you, Guinevere."

"Tomorrow will be a day that will live through history, my king. This day will change everything."

"It will," Arthur replied simply.

"I know you wish he was here..." Gwen said after a moment of silence. She spoke with caution, unsure if her words would agitate her husband. "After all, he stood by your side for so many years."

Arthur promptly cleared his throat, dismissing the matter. "What's done is done."

Gwen nodded, conceding that even now, all this time later, he still preferred not to speak of it. And she understood that. At the same time, Arthur seemed to move on so easily, but Gwen knew when her husband was putting up a front, as he had many times before. Deep down, beneath his seemingly hardened exterior, Arthur missed his friend – or at least, she liked to think he did. It gave her peace to imagine that when he secluded himself within their chambers in the evenings following a council meeting that Arthur was somehow reflecting back on what _he_ might've said about a certain decision. The king had grown so accustomed to his advice over the years, and had all but asked for it many a time – when he wasn't busy teasing him or exchanging light-hearted barbs in their playful banter, that perhaps, even now, he still missed it – or, at the very least, he desired it. But, of course, the queen knew this to ultimately be just a feeling, a thought – one that could never leave her head, and she was content with that. In fact, Gwen preferred it – for it gave her an internal sense of comfort and hope that one day, perhaps one day – he would return.

She laid her head against his chest, and he gripped her hand tightly. Together, they gazed out onto the city of Camelot. The chill of the winter evening had fully settled in, and the city had grown still and quiet. As he looked onwards, Arthur's thoughts were drawn to his old friend – somewhere out there, beyond these walls. He must be somewhere out there.

"You're right, Gwen," he said.

* * *

In the heart of the dark forest, deep within the thick lines of trees and dense brush, laid a small and seemingly insignificant doorway. Carved straight into the mountain to which it led, the archway was inconspicuous at best. Once the secret entrance to a grand assortment of winding caverns within the rock, it had now been reduced to a worn and ruined gash in an otherwise stoic and mighty mountain. Whatever great settlement it once supported had long been weathered away with time and now represented itself as a symbol of an ancient past lost, and a gateway to the enigmatic mysteries below.

Still, far below the surface in the twisting, snake-like catacombs, a single fire ignited. Hovering in the center of a circular chamber, a sphere of scorching flames burned bright; the shadows of its feathery slivers danced across the mammoth stone walls that loomed overhead. A dark and unmoving figure sat within the shadows in the corner of the room. It was unclear as to whether or not he was a being of actual physical substance, or merely a trick of the light, a shade of a former soul doomed to wander the caves forever. Time ceased to exist within him, as the passage of days – the rise and fall of the sun – mattered not. Enveloped by a flowing, blackened cloak, he was a man forgotten to the world, banished and self-exiled many years ago. And he preferred it that way. His hour of glory had long since passed, and now existed only in mere myth to a simple few. He was nobody, and sitting in the dark, swallowed whole by the shadows to which he so desperately wished to cling – he waited.

With his head bowed and eyes closed, he muttered a short incantation beneath his breath, causing the small, suspended blaze before him to grow in size, expanding outwards as the orb grew larger. He suddenly ascended from his secluded position, breaking out from the shaded bend, and made his way towards the fire. He outstretched his hands, causing the flames to crackle and pop, radiating their heat upon his tingling finger tips.

A small gust blew through, and the flames began to twirl, slipping from the sphere and frolicking lightly through the air. They formed various shapes and symbols, spinning round and round through each other, fusing together and creating new projections. This was magic in one of its purest and most simple forms. How fitting, the man thought, that such sorcery be exercised here, deep within one of the most ancient places in the entire realm. To him, it represented a time of past and present, what once was and now isn't. The flames grew larger and more volatile as a spark of anger ignited within his being when he recalled the circumstances surrounding the purge that doomed his people. It didn't matter, though – none of it did, for in time it would all be right again. Soon they would adhere to their sins; soon his lust for revenge would be sated.

This was their one small light in the darkness; the single hope for a brighter future.

Two cloaked figures emerged from the forest, their moonlit-silhouettes cut from the fabric of the overhanging darkness. Together they slipped inside the crumbling doorway, delving deep into the forgotten corridors. They glided down the slim path, dodging and contorting their bodies so as to avoid the jutting rocks and lethal stalagmites. In the dead silence, they rounded a corner and neared a small and circular chamber just off of the passageway. As they approached the sorcerer from behind, his attention still fixated upon the orb, he did neither flinch nor turn, for he had long been aware of their presence. In fact, he had been awaiting it.

"It has been too long, Iseldir, my dearest druid." The Elder's voice was deep and calm, enriched with the knowledge of a thousand years.

"Arawn," the druid bowed.

"Your living arrangements have not improved," Accolon said sarcastically.

The old man chuckled. "A temporary fix, I assure you. Do you not enjoy the dark? At least you should be accustomed to the deep places of the world, Iseldir."

"I find that a little light every now and then isn't so bad," Iseldir responded.

"Of course...Though, I trust you haven't ventured to the ancient depths simply to insult me - what news do you bring, my friends?"

"There is something, as you suspected,"

"My feelings rarely betray me," he responded matter-of-factly, his voice echoing slightly off of the cold stone.

"It is somewhere hidden and secret, deep within the forest," Accolon continued. "It... it fell from the sky, like a fallen star, burning brightly as it plummeted."

The man's already worn forehead wrinkled slightly. "You are sure of this? You...Iseldir, you can confirm these claims?"

"My people have followed these stars closely for over a thousand years. I know what was seen to be true," Iseldir joined in.

The old man sighed: Finally. "This is pleasant news, my friends." He reached out, drawing the blazing orb towards him, the flittering symbols fading into smoke and rising up into the abyss."Does anyone else know of this?"

"One other, a fellow druid. He was the one who heard the sound of the impact." Iseldir began to grow suspicious. He had known Arawn for many years, and never knew him to be so paranoid.

"Do you trust him?"

"I trust all of my people, every last one - why?"

"Good. No one else is to know of what transpired this night, do you understand? We must keep this quiet."

"Why the secrecy, old friend?" Asked the druid curiously.

The Elder shot Iseldir a glance, revealing the identity beneath his hood. The old sorcerer's face was scarred and wrinkled, carved from time, and veiled by a thick, matted gray beard; his once sharp and fierce blue eyes now drooped with sadness and exhaustion.

"The fewer number of people who are aware the better."

Iseldir scrunched his face. A prickling sense of uneasiness crawled up his spine. "What exactly is it that you intend to do with this information?"

Arawn paused and thought a moment. "Set matters in motion." He cupped his wrinkled hand, and the orb of fire descended gently into his palm. The flames slid from the sphere and snaked around his hand - but he remained unharmed.

The reality behind the Elder's cryptic words began to set in. "No...no, you cannot," refuted the druid. "You don't know that for sure; the reasons are not clear."

"Do _not_ tell me what I know," Arawn retorted. "I am sure of this, Iseldir. And so the information must be brought to the Lady. She is the only one who can help our cause."

"_Our _cause?" Iseldir scoffed, his voice rising. "My people share a truce with the king and I don't intend for it to be broken because of your assumptions. Perhaps you are ailing, old friend - weakened and consumed by your long-lasting hatred."

"Enough!" Accolon shouted.

"How dare you," the Elder snarled, his tone also growing sharper. "I am a relic of the Old Religion. My instincts are not delusions. Don't you think I know that I am all but spent in this world? I seek neither glory nor fame, only to restore the balance and bring true vengeance to our people - those with magic."

"Not all of those with magic will stand with you," Iseldir said. "My people believe in the world that Arthur is building, and the druids will not stand by while the world is consumed by the war you wish to start."

"Ha! _Your people_. You sit burrowed within your holes amongst the twigs and the muk and you claim to be at peace with Arthur but it is naught but a sad dream. The truth eludes you, Iseldir. For only when the Pendragon king falls from his arrogant throne and lies dead and Camelot is no more will magic reascend to its proper place in the world."

"I cannot believe your words. You are wrong, Arawn, about so much...The king is not his father. He is fair and just. He will not condemn us in the same way Uther did. If you cannot see that...then the wise sage that I once walked with is truly dead."

"Mind your tongue, druid!" Accolon stepped away from his side. "You are traversing a thin and fragile line."

"Let us not stay our thoughts, our feelings. I will not sit idle and be aligned with a witch like her!"

"You betray us with your ignorance."

"I will gladly oppose you," Iseldir retorted, smiling slightly.

The old sorcerer looked upon his friend, a man that he had known for so long - and could not recognize him. To Arawn, Iseldir had betrayed his people and himself, and in the days of the Old Religion, such treachery would not go unpunished."You condemn yourself?" A subtle pinch of sadness touched his voice.

The druid inhaled deeply, breathing in the smoky-scented air. "If this is the course of action you wish to take...I will not stand with you, and neither will my people."

"Then...I am sorry, old friend." And with a flick of Arawn's wrist, Iseldir felt his arms constrict and tighten. The glowing orb in his hand deformed into four separate flaming tendrils and pulled the druid to his knees, binding his hands and feet to the earth. Iseldir groaned and tugged with all his might, but was unable to free himself. The magical chains singed through his clothing and seared his flesh, causing him to cry out in pain. He reached down deep inside of himself, attempting to summon his magic, but could not break through the ancient powers that bound him. Finally, he conceded, and bowed his head solemnly. Accolon approached him from behind and withdrew his sword from beneath his cloak. In one swift motion he raised the blade and sliced, sending Iseldir's head tumbling to the floor.

* * *

Arthur Pendragon, the High King, sat before a massive, circular wooden table in the center of his throne room. Around him were the Knights of Camelot, clothed in their steel chain and red capes, and the members of the royal council as they all congregated on this morning for an important meeting. Twenty five of them there was in total, spread out around the table as they conversed with one another – each the other's equal.

The king looked around, admiring the men who he was surrounded by, especially those he was closest to: Leon and Percival to his right, and Gwaine and Elyan to his left. He greatly appreciated and valued all of his men, but these four…these four were exceptionally dear to Arthur. Together, they had been through so much over the years, and had grown so close. They were more than loyal soldiers to him, even more than brothers; they were friends of the greatest, most treasured kind.

Arthur himself took a moment, in this time of great, impending change, to reflect back on the first several years of his rule. They had achieved so much and taken great strides towards the future; all of their hard work now culminated in this moment, and he couldn't have done it without them. The king had never been more proud.

After another minute or two, the king cleared his throat and ascended to his feet as he prepared to speak. Those around the table took notice, and immediately quieted.

"My fellow knights, council members, friends, we gather around this table today with monumental purpose," Arthur began. "For too long have so many of the people of Camelot been afraid; too long have they cowered in the shadow of our severe oppression. On this day…we change that. Today, we better ourselves, our lives, and the whole of the kingdom of Camelot. This is a day that will certainly live within in our memories. This day will change everything.

"We have experienced undeniable progress and peace these past few years, but our work is far from complete. In fact, it never will be. Before us lies a new and bright future. Together we leave behind the old remnants of what was once a time of tyranny, hate, and prejudice. I wish not for my reign to consist of such traits. I look at those around this table and I am filled with pride. Prideful in the sense that I am so very fortunate as king to be with those who share these sentiments, who are not hypocritical or unjust. It is with your support, and of all the citizens of Camelot, that we strive to continue to build a peaceful world of prosperity. Today we break loose the final shackles binding us to the old world."

"Here, here!" Came the voice of a knight.

"Long live the king!" Another proclaimed, and everyone around the table repeatedly called out in unison.

Arthur smiled as he slightly bowed his head in humble gratitude. "Henceforth, I Arthur Pendragon, Royal King of Camelot, do—"

The twin doors to the throne room unexpectedly burst open, swinging back as two Camelot soldiers marched into the room. Arthur stopped short, gazing curiously at the two men as did his knights and council members, all with surprised and puzzled looks covering their faces.

"Sire," said one of the guards.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Yes?"

"There is something you have to see."

_The adventure continues..._


	2. A Message from Forests' Edge

A Message from Forests' Edge

"He arrived not long ago, still fastened to the horse." The knight looked absolutely befuddled. "I couldn't tell you what sent it here, my lord; it came straight for Camelot on its own."

"And the horse is okay?"

"Yes, my lord, it's being tended to in the stables. Not a scratch on it."

"Okay, thank you," replied the king. "Send for the physician."

"Yes sire," the soldier responded, and set off towards the castle with haste.

Arthur, Gwaine, and Percival huddled around a make-shift bed made from a wagon that lay in a small alleyway near the southern gates of Camelot, staring down at an unexpected and grotesque sight. Before them lay the lifeless body of a man partially covered by a thin sheet; his blackened veins protruded from his sickly green-colored skin, and it was unclear as to how long he had been dead, but already a potent stench emitted from his corpse and hung heavy in the air, drawing unwanted attention from the surrounding townsfolk.

"What would cause such an illness?" Said Gwaine.

Arthur rubbed his forehead troublingly – he had no answer. He looked the body over; the man was clothed in chain mail, and bore the Pendragon crest on his red cape – obviously signs of a soldier. Arthur's brow furrowed. "I've seen this man before. He was a knight stationed at the outpost near the forest."

"The Forest of Balor? That's beyond the Mountains of Isgaard…an exhausting ride – at least a full day,"

"But this man looks like he's been dead for several days. How could the horse have traveled so far on its own, and with a dead rider?" Percival questioned.

"We'll know more once the physician inspects him," Arthur said. For right now, he just wanted to put aside any guesses they may have and find out what truly happened to this man to cause him to look so…deathly. It was quite evident, however, that something was far from right. The king had seen many diseases across the kingdom throughout the years, but never something like this. "Percival, retreat to the citadel and inform Leon and Elyan of what has happened here, and then meet us in the council chambers. We can do little else while we wait."

"Yes, sire," and he turned and made his way out of the alley and back towards the castle.

As they prepared to depart, Gwaine pulled the cloth back over the man's head and tried to hold his breath, but the odor penetrated through into his nostrils, and he could taste it on his tongue. Something was causing the smell to be stronger towards the upper half of his form.

"Gah!" He gagged, trying to repel the smell by placing his arm against his face, and in the process tugged the sheet away from the corpse.

"Wait, wait," Arthur intervened. The king noticed something hidden beneath the man's armor. "What's that there?" He pulled the chain mail away from his neck and revealed a festering bite mark embedded in his green skin. The smell suddenly grew thicker, and Arthur began to cough uncontrollably as the putrid odor filled his lungs – it was coming from the wound. A queasy sensation rose in his stomach and the king grew light-headed; for a moment he thought he might be sick.

The two stumbled backwards away from the body and shielded their mouths and noses. "What the hell?"

Arthur glanced from a distance and spotted the deep puncture; he had never seen teeth marks like those, not from any kind of animal. His mind was refueled with questions, and now more than ever he wished for the physician to arrive.

* * *

Arthur slumped down into his throne, his head resting against his hand. The king was puzzled and concerned. What could have caused such a thing to happen? What kind of creature could have inflicted the bite?

Before him stood a robed man; he was youthful, judging by his features, and though his knowledge of science and medicine was vast, a look of confusion etched his face – for even he had never seen such a thing.

"I finished my examination, your highness," the man spoke. "I cannot determine what killed him, only that no known creature that I am aware of could have caused that bite."

"You are sure? Nothing, not a wolf or a mountain lion, perhaps?"

He shook his head hopelessly. "The skin around the bite was stained black, like a poison was injected within the wound. But it is nothing that has even been recorded in any of my books."

"I see."

"I…I'm sorry to disappoint you, sire."

"No, no – you have done well. I appreciate your help." Arthur nodded reassuringly.

The man bowed graciously. "Though, may I ask one thing?"

"Go on?"

"I was just wondering," he continued, "when did you say the man arrived?"

Arthur sat up in his throne. "This morning. Why do you ask?"

"Well, the mark was fresh – he could not have been dead more than a few hours. To be more exact…I would say he expired sometime in the night."

"He died during his journey?" Leon asked.

"And the horse for some reason carried him the rest of the way," concluded Percival.

Arthur looked at his friends curiously. How could that have been possible? "Thank you," he once again said to the physician.

"I will keep searching for an answer, my king," he said, and quickly exited the chamber, heading back to his tower.

Once the doors had shut and they were alone, the four knights encircled their king, ready to discuss the matter at hand.

"This troubles me," Leon said.

"Aye," Gwaine agreed.

"I find it hard to believe that any horse would head straight for Camelot on its own," said Percival skeptically, and Arthur agreed.

"There's just too much we don't know."

"I watched as they carried the body to the tower." Percival outstretched his hand, holding a crisp, sealed piece of parchment. "This fell from his pocket. It's addressed to you. This might lead us to the truth of what happened."

The king promptly took the letter from Percival's hand and broke the seal:

_King Arthur,_

_I must be quick. The fire has fallen from the sky – they saw it the other night, and strange things are starting to happen. I don't know how much danger we are in, but we are alone out here and I am beginning to fear for my men. I humbly request an immediate audience with Your Highness in hopes that we may further discuss this issue._

_-Ashrim_

Arthur re-read the message, scanning his eyes over the words again and again, and then out loud for his knights.

"Ashrim? Why does that name sound familiar?"

"Captain Ashrim leads our men at the outpost near the forest's edge," Leon informed Gwaine. "He must've sent this man."

"Yes, but I doubt he did so after he was bitten," said the king.

Percival remained unsure. "If he died during his journey then he must've been attacked after he departed from the outpost."

"Someone or something didn't want him to deliver it," chimed Elyan.

"And we still have no idea what bit him."

Arthur ran his thumb over the engraved paper, feeling the grooves of the feather pen against his skin, Ashrim's words shot through his mind. "Well, we're going to find out. Any thoughts?"

The knights looked around, each waiting for the other to speak.

"Sire, I know we're all thinking it so it might as well be said," alluded Leon.

The king sighed. "You're suggesting sorcery?"

"Yes."

"That would be my guess as well," added Gwaine. "An unidentifiable bite mark that caused such a death? It has to be magic."

Arthur massaged his temple once again: for that was his feeling as well. And even worse, he knew none in Camelot who could expertly consult him on this matter; the only two who could were long gone. The question mark of uncertainty pained him deeply; on one hand, he wished to draw a line between the bite and the contents of the letter in the hope that they did not share any correlation. But on the other, deep down, Arthur feared the worst. Nothing was ever a coincidence. Perhaps they were related in some way.

Arthur rose from his throne. "Our men call for aid and they shall be granted it, but I am also concerned about the circumstances surrounding this. Aren't you? This very well could be some form of magic, and the fact that we are unsure, I think, is even more of a reason to go."

"I think we're all in agreement there, sire," affirmed Leon.

"But we do it quietly," Arthur's tone grew softer. "Just us. We leave at first light and take the ride and we'll find out exactly what's going on here and handle it."

The knights agreed: "I'm always up for an adventure," added Gwaine with a smile.

"Right then," the king concluded, "go and get your rest."

* * *

In the middle of the vast, lifeless wood, a single life sparked. Through the leafless trees and resilient, snow-covered pines, a small clearing blemished the forest floor – a simple, insignificant gap in the otherwise mighty wild. Trees lined its edge, towering over the space, and the grass was frozen in its place, unmoved since the first snowfall of the winter.

Within this gape was the circular depression of a large crater; the divot branded the midst of the opening, seeping thick clouds of blackened smoke from its core that rose into the night. The snow surrounding it had melted, giving way to the crackling embers that splashed upon the earth, singing the now-thawing meadow.

A volatile mixture of smoke and fire sprung up in the giant crater, swishing around in a funnel of seething fire as it exploded into the starry sky. Molten lava sloshed from the heated concoction, staining the earth with a violent hiss. The forest suddenly livened with a series of loud yelps and growls that called into the night, shrieking through the frigid air. Their voices emanated from the crater, echoing throughout the trees and causing their needles to subtly tremble.

From within the white-hot center, amidst the churning tornado, a single, charred hand reached outwards, over the side of the hole, and clawed at the earth.

* * *

Arthur sat on his bed, hopelessly fidgeting with his bracers. He had conquered dragons, the risen dead, immortal armies…but for the life of him could not overcome the obstacle that was correctly fastening his armor. Even though several years had passed and he had prepared himself many, many times, the task still somehow never seemed to get easier for him. In this instance, he was more than glad that his servant was not around to see his struggle: Arthur, the great and mighty king of Camelot, embarrassingly defeated by a latch on his armor. He chuckled to himself; he would never let him live it down. And, in a way, that made him sad.

Following a few more failed attempts, Arthur finally conceded defeat, throwing up his hand in a gesture of frustration. He rose from the neatly arranged, royal-blue silken bedspread, neatly straightened and crisp except for the small area on which he had just previously sat, and walked towards the window overlooking the courtyard. The king pushed open the stained glass, causing the morning light to flood into the otherwise dark room. Below him, the city of Camelot had slowly started to stir, its citizens rising from their beds to another wintery day. A fresh layer of powdery snow had fallen throughout the night, blanketing the already-white stone castle.

He was awake earlier than usual; the journey to the forest would last a hard days ride, and possibly into the night. As he looked out, seeing the first of the bundled commoners emerge from their homes, his thoughts were drawn once again to the reason of their impending quest.

The news of this 'disturbance' had come as a surprise to the king, and an even greater shock was the manner in which it was brought to him. Many a time he had been notified of various magical occurrences or disruptions throughout the land, but for the life of him, the king could not decipher Ashrim's words. A 'fire' from the sky? And, of course, he kept going back to the attack on his soldier.

He had mulled it over again and again, twisting and turning so much at night that he was unable to sleep. His wife had taken notice of this, as she almost always did when her husband was distressed, and had inquired as to what was troubling him. But Arthur knew that if he had tried to verbalize the complex web of thoughts weaving through his head, he'd sound like a mindless fool. Guinevere and the knights would understand, but his council members… they might lose faith in their king, thinking him incompetent, driven mad by the pressures of his royal position.

In his heart Arthur wondered if the two events shared a correlation. And if so, what could that possibly mean. Perhaps nothing – perhaps it was not but a mere coincidence. But then he reminded himself yet again, since when has anything ever been a coincidence? He truly believed his men to be in trouble, and something had tried to prevent that fact from reaching Camelot.

His mind was plagued with questions, the "what ifs." Could this be the work of the druids? After all, they are the magical beings who mostly inhabit the forest. They may have conjured some beast that caused the death of one of his soldiers. But he had already proclaimed that they were allowed to freely practice magic within their own settlements – would they lash out or disrupt that peace with such an event as this?

And of course, deep within the depths of his cerebrum, he assumed that this was possibly the work of his sister. Several years had passed since the king had last spoken with Morgana, but the memories of their final meeting remained fresh in his mind. At times he wondered of her, where she dwelled, what she was doing…if she was even still alive, but had quickly dismissed these thoughts, for none of that mattered now. The important thing was that in Camelot's most recent years, the dark and insidious forces had ceased to assault and prey upon his lands.

"You're getting better at that. About time, too," Gwen quipped, breaking him out of his thoughts as she entered into their chambers.

"Still can't get the bracers on right," he smirked, glancing down and admiring his "handy work."

She smiled warmly, walking over towards the window and tended to his armor.

"What on earth did you do to this thing?"

"Well, I—"

"There," she said. And with a quick snap and pop, the metal bracers clung tight – correctly – to Arthur's forearm.

He gently rolled his eyes. "Just like that…That's not humiliating at all."

"Not in the slightest." She winked. "You'll get it, my lord. It just takes practice…lots and lots of practice."

Arthur gave her a playfully stern glance. "I appreciate your encouragement, Guinevere."

"That's what I'm here for."

"Well, I love you for much more than that," Arthur cooed affectionately, and Gwen beamed up at him, leaning in to lightly kiss his cheek.

"You know," she continued, moving towards a stained oak chest beside their bed and began to remove her jewelry, "you wouldn't have to deal with these sorts of things if you got another servant, Arthur."

Arthur's flirtatious feelings left him. "I don't want another servant," he retorted blandly.

"Why?"

Arthur paused, staring down at the now-fastened piece of armor that he had struggled with. "It's time I did things for myself, Gwen. I shouldn't have to lean on someone else for tasks like this."

The queen knew better, of course – and Arthur implicitly acknowledged this – the true reason for not appointing another servant is that nobody could replace the old one.

"How long will you be out in the forest, my king?" She asked, abruptly changing the subject.

"I'm not sure," he replied, leaning against the sill, "it'll take us nearly all of this day to get there, barring we don't have to make many stops for Gwaine, but I haven't the slightest idea what we may find."

"Why must you go?" Beneath Gwen's question, Arthur sensed her subtle worry.

"This is a time of great change for us all, Guinevere. The future of Albion hangs by a fragile thread - and suddenly a message of strange occurrences is brought to Camelot by a dead man? No, something is going on Gwen. We need to see this through."

Gwen sighed. "You are taking just a few of your knights. You don't think that dangerous?"

"I really don't have a choice," said the king, subtly shaking his head. "I need guards here to maintain their posts in the city and the citadel. Plus, we don't know what we're going up against, if anything. But, if there's something to be faced here, I doubt bringing an army will be seen as a sign of peace."

Arthur withheld another reason for his decision to only take a select few of his knights, one he did not wish to burden her with: Should the people see an entire army leaving Camelot, they might think that war was brewing; it would cause them to talk, rumors would spread, and hysteria might ensue.

As she pulled the rings from her fingers and placed them upon the chest, a frown graced Gwen's face yet again. Arthur made sense logically, but she couldn't help but worry for him. And even with her back turned, he picked up on this.

"Guinevere, you mustn't fret. I trust these men with my life," he tried to reassure.

"I know," she said softly.

Arthur knew that she worried about him every day, especially the times that he left the security of the palace. But she was strong, caring, and he loved her deeply for it.

"Now, have you seen my sword?" The king hopped off of the windowsill, glancing around the floor of their chambers. "I seem to have..." he trailed off and cleared his throat. "Misplaced it." Arthur began searching the room, rummaging through various areas, tossing clothes, books, all in search of his lost weapon. He paced to and fro, ducking down to examine the area beneath the bed, the furniture, and the table – which was cluttered with old maps and a plate of yesterday's breakfast.

He was still working on organization.

Gwen smiled to herself, and thought a moment. She finished setting her jewelry atop the chest and pulled a wooden case from beneath their bed, withdrawing from it an elongated object covered by a flowing cloth.

"What's that there?" Arthur asked, gesturing towards the item in Gwen's hands as he joined her at their bedside.

"If you cannot find your own, then perhaps you can use this one." Gwen pulled the cloth away, revealing an all-to-familiar sword; its golden hilt shined brightly with divinity in the morning sun, and inscribed upon its burnished blade were the writings, "Take me up," and "Cast me away".

"Where did you get that?"

"That's not important right now," she responded.

"I haven't wielded that in years," Arthur said. "I don't know, Gwen…" The last the king had seen of this weapon was in a time of great peril and loss. There was something about it that called to him, but Arthur had seen a glimpse of what secret power it held within its steel blade. It reminded him too much of that day…and so he had locked it away, hidden, in the vaults beneath the city. And now he felt unsure, torn between two opposing sides vying inside his head.

"You said it yourself," she offered him the sword, "you don't know what you'll find in the forest. We both know this is the best thing to do."

Arthur stood a moment, staring at the sword before him, and contemplated his decision. Finally he nodded, reaching out and firmly grasping the golden hilt. He lifted the sword in hand, weighing its near-perfect balance and admiring its expert craftsmanship. A warming sensation washed over him, running from the handle and extending up into his arm. It just…felt right. Arthur had wielded many swords over the years, but nothing compared to the feeling that enveloped him with this weapon at his side.

_"Nobody else can use it like you can. It was made for you, Arthur." _The words echoed in his mind.

"It's time, Guinevere," he said, sheathing the blade.

_The adventure continues…_


	3. The Journey Begins

The Journey Begins

The Queen stood before the window of her chambers, looking down across the city as she saw the last of the knights' red cloaks flicker out of sight. Gwen's eyes lingered for a moment, staring intently on the very spot she had last seen her husband before his horse descended below the horizon, and acknowledged the sad reality, as she always did when Arthur left the city on a dangerous journey, that she may never see him again. This concern was nothing new to the young queen. And even now, years since her coronation and in the midst of a time of peace, the worrying feeling still gripped at her insides, knowing that there always was a possibility.

Although, something was different this time; there was a sense in the air which Gwen felt – that of uneasiness. Nobody else seemed to notice as they all went about their daily lives. She felt isolated in her premonition, self-secluded by her own feelings. The feeling pricked at her spine, and she couldn't put her finger on it, couldn't give it an identity. It was simply there. Gwen reiterated Arthur's belief – there are no coincidences. Whatever was out there – magical or otherwise – it was no friend to Camelot or its king. Gwen knew she worried too much – it annoyed even her sometimes – but it was also justified. Arthur had barely ventured past the city gates, but already she wished for them to be back at home.

The pain of losing a loved one was all too familiar to Guinevere – first her mother, then her father. The loss of one parent let alone two was devastating to her, and now as queen she faced the chance of both her husband and her brother being put into harm's way. But of course, the uncertainty that stung at her heart had no doubt come as a byproduct of the life she now lived. For just as Arthur's stern and sometimes seemingly cold exterior came from his position as a king, so did Gwen's fears come as a result of being his wife.

To the unknowing eye, the thought of Guinevere, the Queen of Camelot, being drowned by these conflictions would be absurd. For given all of her internal questions and anxiety, Gwen was undoubtedly strong willed and confident – traits that had always been a part of her, even in her time spent as a servant to the Lady, but had been grown and crafted in recent years. Traits that had attracted Arthur to her in the very beginning; it didn't matter her position or "worth," a nasty term which Uther might've used – Gwen was who she was, and it was that which Arthur was drawn to. Now, Gwen was a powerful, dauntless young woman – but deep inside still lingered the fragile and worrisome young girl from all those years ago.

Arthur had always understood her, or at least he tried. There were times many years ago when she couldn't believe how thick he was, how unaware he could be. Perhaps he had been conked on the head one too many times. Gwen thought this not as an insult to her husband, but rather a gracious compliment – to show how far he had come. The once misunderstood, arrogant young prince had come so far and changed so much. Even in his earlier days, Arthur, at his core, always carried the heart of a lion. He was the most understanding, kind, and fair man she had ever met.

Besides her husband, the only other person that could pick up on Gwen's troubles was Arthur's former servant. How she missed him so: his bumbling demeanor, the way he trudged around the castle, adhering to Arthur's every beck and call. The queen smiled subtly to herself. His grin – she could not forget how even in her most darkest of days, a simple smile could cheer her up. Gwen's happiness quickly faded when the memories of the past once again flooded into her brain:

He was there for so many years, and just like that, in an instant, he was gone. It was, and Gwen hated to use such an analogy, almost like death – but only worse. In death there is sorrow and grief, such is the way of the world, but also closure – a subconscious knowing that even though that person is no longer bound to this world, they are at peace. Now, though, only questions surrounded him. Ever since that day…nothing has been the same. Not with her, and most definitely not with Arthur.

Gwen finally broke away from the window, making her way towards the bed that she and Arthur shared. As she sat lightly upon the bedspread, the events of _that_ day came flowing back. Not that they were completely absent, mind you, for she remembered it all so vividly.

Arthur had been, at first, deeply confused and conflicted – as were they all. Once the initial feelings had worn off, a deep and burning anger had filled his heart; Gwen had never seen him so distraught, never – in all these years. After returning to Camelot, the young king locked himself in the council chambers, refusing to talk to anyone. The pain – the feeling of absolute betrayal, was unbearable to Arthur. But the king never lashed out, never raised his voice about the matter once – no, he always kept it bottled up inside, calmly deterring any discussion of what happened that day, and Gwen knew that at some point, in some manner, Arthur's dormant pain would rise to the surface.

As Gwen sat alone in their chambers, she was drawn to the unknown outside these walls around her. It had been a long while since she set foot outside the castle; there was always so much to do, it seemed – so much to keep her busy and her mind off of unnecessary things. But somewhere out there, out into the finite abyss of the world beyond the city, was the young man they all needed now. Gwen believed in her heart that he still existed.

How else could she have come by the sword?

* * *

As the morning drew on, Arthur and his company traveled onwards across the snow-covered plains, rising over hills and carefully dodging frozen streams on horseback, headed ever forward towards their objective.

The journey before them seemed bleak and endless. They trudged ever forward through the mounting snow, with small shards of ice stinging at their bright red faces, towards a seemingly endless destination. There was cause for optimism though. They were making good time, and had stopped only twice to rest the horses.

The sun rose higher and higher until it had reached its peak in the sky; its soothing rays warmed the knights, who were bundled up atop their horses, and began to slowly dissolve the snow.

The day drifted slowly into midafternoon, and the fatigue of their constant riding began to set in. If there was one thing to take away from their journey thus far was that it was cold. Very cold. The knights did their best in an attempt to stay warm by pulling the chain-armor hoods over their heads and wrapping their cloaks around them, but the chill wind was relentless, bombarding them constantly. Whatever water they had brought was frozen in their canteens. They remained silent for most of the ride, even Gwaine, to everyone's surprise, for they were too concerned with trying to keep warm to spark up a conversation.

The company was crossing fair amounts of terrain, given the conditions. But as they reached the top of a hill, just large enough to overlook the trek that lay before them, Arthur knew that going through the mountain pass would prove too difficult and perilous.

"We must take another route," he said, looking out at a cloud of brewing storms atop the Isgaard peaks. "The mountains would result in certain death."

"Not up for an adventure, sire?" Elyan smiled slyly, and Arthur was surprised – usually Gwaine was the one to interject with satirical jokes.

"If you find yourself in need of being thrashed around by the wind and snow, be my guest, Sir Knight," Arthur returned, to which the others chimed in with laughter.

"Where to then, my lord?" Leon asked.

Arthur thought a moment, glancing at the land below. "There is a small pass just to the east. We should be able to cross the river from there. Hopefully."

"Cross?" A look of mild worry graced Elyan's face.

"Perhaps I am up for that adventure after all," Arthur smiled and pulled himself back onto his horse.

* * *

The journey through the pass had proved easy enough for the company, but their greatest trial yet lay ahead. Before them now lay one single obstacle that barred them from their destination. Exhausted and almost teetering atop their horses the knights slowly, one by one, ushered their horses out onto the creaking ice of the frozen river. The horses moved ever so gently, their hooves slipping slightly as they advanced, and Arthur and his knights held their breath, hoping that nothing spooked their steeds. One wrong move, one ill-advised, hurried step, and they would collapse into the frigid water below. Elyan went first, followed by Leon, Percival, and Gwaine. With only the king left to go, Arthur took a deep breath, patting his horse and attempting to soothe it, for even the animal sensed the danger that was before them.

Arthur's horse stepped out off of the bank, one hoof clunked to the ground, and he heard the hiss of the weight press against the fragile ice. Another step, and then another. Slowly but surely. The ice groaned again, emitting small cracks beneath its hooves. "Whoa," Arthur said, calming his steed as it neighed softly. The king continued patting the horse, keeping him steady until finally they reached the other side – all in one piece.

"Let's not do that again," he said.

With the night finally beginning to settle in, the exhausted knights made their way along the path and would soon approach the settlement which bordered the forest. Led by their king, the knights rounded a bend of tall pines and came upon the sight of a great walled fortress sitting high atop a plateau. It was fortified and protected by a large stone wall that encircled the entire encampment, shielding it from their view. In the center of the wall was a massive gate made from stone and wood, closed and apparently locked. Arthur hoped they would be able to gain access. The night was drawing closer and closer, and with it, the temperature had begun to drop dramatically.

A guard atop the watch tower noticed the approaching caravan as they carefully trotted their way down the frozen path. He looked out, shielding the last of the fading light of the sun with his hand, and recognized the leader of the company at once. "Make way for the king!" He shouted, causing the men below him to scurry into position. After a moment, the massive gates grumbled to life as they were summoned from their slumber. The buildup of ice on the cold stone cracked and shattered as the guards grabbed a large, wooden beam and pushed with all their might, prying open the doors to the small fortress just enough to allow passage for the king and his men.

"Quite a stalwart defense for a simple outpost," Elyan commented as they rode towards the gap in the gate.

"This post lies close to the forest, our first line of defense," Leon called back, saluting a knight as the horses made their way through the gates. "We need to be sure that all of the necessary precautions are taken."

The company continued onwards up the path and into the encampment, making their way deeper inside until they arrived at another structure in the heart of the settlement. The building before them was crafted from solid stone; it defenses mirrored the outer walls of the settlement, rising high into the sky and circling around the keep which it protected.

"Here stands one of Camelot's oldest settlements," Arthur admired the stronghold as he dismounted his horse. "The keep is near impregnable; a fortified structure that has never been breached. The surrounding outpost was built around it."

"Your highness," a knight greeted as he approached them. "The captain has been informed of your arrival and awaits you inside the keep."

"Thank you," the king responded.

Another knight led the company forward and past the threshold of the small fortress, deep into a dark, torch-lit hallway. The walls of the corridor, just as its outer structuring, were built of carved stone. The air was equally as heavy as it was outside, but at least a tad warmer. Together they followed the knight until the company came to a grand hall lined with long rectangular tables that stretched the length of the room. More torches lined the walls, burning brightly as their lights flickered off of the stone.

"Arthur Pendragon!" The call took the king by surprise as he entered, and he looked up just in time to see a giant-like, husky man shuffling down the main aisle towards him. He was older, almost indeterminable by his size and fitness, and his face was covered by a mossy braided orange beard; a single thick scar ran down his broad, battle-hardened forehead and clipped his nose and he was encased in a burly animal-skin raiment which swept around his massive form.

"Captain Ashrim," greeted Arthur with a smile.

"It's so good to see you, my king. It warms the heart." The captain reached out with his tree trunk-like arm and grabbed Arthur's firmly as he beamed down at him through his bushy beard.

"And you as well. Night is nearly upon us and my men are exhausted. I was hoping that we may seek shelter here."

"Of course, of course," the captain replied. "You and your knights can eat here," he pointed towards platters full of food upon the tables.

Arthur glanced about them, lowering his voice. "I actually wish to speak to you in private, Captain. I'm afraid the matter of discussion is a delicate one."

"Oh," the captain seemed somewhat taken aback by Arthur's sudden bluntness. "Well certainly, sire. As you wish."

"But I'm sure that they will take you up on your offer." Arthur nodded and the knights, especially Gwaine, who let out an exclamation of joy, excitedly moved forward, eager to fill their empty stomachs after a hard days ride.

_The adventure continues..._


	4. Fireside Chat

Fireside Chat

The captain led the young king back out into the hallway and round a corner until they reached another room, this one containing only a bed, and a fireplace with a small table and three chairs orbiting it nearby.

"Sire," Ashrim gestured towards one of the chairs to which Arthur obliged. The fire burned brightly in the pit cut from the wall, and its heat radiated outwards and warmed the king. He was thankful they were now inside and not braving the harsh conditions of the winter.

"You all seem to be doing well," Arthur said, fitting himself into one of the wooden seats.

"Yes," the captain said, sitting opposite of the king, the pegs creaking against the floor when they had to support the mass of the hulky captain. "This is one of the harshest winters Camelot has seen recently, no doubt, but we manage. Our food supplies remain stable and I suppose if we find ourselves short of water we could simply melt some of the ice." Arthur chuckled.

"The morale seems good. You've done an excellent job out here," praised the king.

"We do the best we can; it's all in service of Camelot. Drink?" He asked, offering a jug of mead.

"Please. I would ask nothing more of the soldiers in this kingdom," Arthur replied. "I receive your emissary every other week."

"Ah, Enduin is one of the finest soldiers we have. I would trust him with anything, and he can ride a horse like no other. I've never seen someone so fast."

The king grew silent for a moment. "There's a problem with that, captain," Arthur said. "It saddens me to inform you that your messenger is dead."

Ashrim abruptly stopped pouring the drinks. "Dead?"

"Your message, that's the reason we're here. We received it in Camelot yesterday, around midafternoon. Enduin brought it but…but he was dead when he arrived."

"Arrived dead? What—I don't follow you, sire."

Arthur cleared his throat. "The horse rode into Camelot with his body," the king tried to explain, but even he still didn't fully understand. "He was bitten."

"Bitten? By what creature?" The captain looked bewildered at Arthur, still in disbelief.

"We don't know. But whatever it was, it infected him like a plague. He was only gone hours but..." Arthur tried to describe the man's state as delicately as possible. "But, it appeared to have been longer than that. It's nothing anyone in Camelot has ever seen."

"Oh my." Ashrim could hardly believe what he was hearing. Just the other day he had sent this man out on quest to Camelot and now the king had arrived to tell him that Enduin was dead. The news had startled and saddened him; his most trusted and closest soldier...gone. Just like that. "He was a good man...and a good soldier. I'm so sorry to hear this news."

"I bear it with a heavy heart," the king attempted to comfort his friend. "We are sorry for your loss. Each time a soldier of Camelot fall, I cannot help but feel saddened and responsible."

"You shouldn't, my lord. We would all gladly die for you."

Arthur smiled slightly. Even in the wake of this most troubling, unexpected news, Ashrim's undying loyalty never wavered. "But as I said, we received your message," Arthur continued. "It was vague, I'm guessing intentionally. You spoke of a fire? Strange things? I couldn't help but wonder if this man's death and what you described in your letter were related." The captain's eyes dropped to the table. "We're here to help, but in order to do that we need to know what you saw."

The captain took a moment to collect his thoughts. "Aye, Arthur. Sit here with me and I will tell you what I know." He finished pouring their drinks and handed the king a mug full of mead, and he himself pressed his own container to his lips and took a mighty swig.

"The the night before last," he began, "a patrol returned from the southern edge of the forest claiming they had seen a massive ball of fire plummet from the sky and land somewhere in the wood."

Arthur leaned in close as Ashrim told his tale. He cupped the mug in his hands and sipped it every now and then; the cold air had dried his mouth and so it was refreshing to rejuvenate himself after a long and trying ride. The beer cascaded down into his stomach and instantly warmed his insides – that coupled with the roaring fire to their side was a magnificent feeling after experiencing nothing but coldness all day.

"They returned with their story but I knew in an instant what they had seen."

"You know what they saw?"

"Yes. They are known by several names by different people, my king, but back before the Purge we called them _fallen stars._"

'Fallen stars'…he had never heard the term, yet, in a way, it seemed familiar to him. "Is this magic?" The captain nodded, taking another drink. Arthur had feared as much. "Dark magic?"

"No," he shook his head. "But…they do not always bode well. That same night another of my patrols failed to return and we haven't heard from them since. Strange things are happening, and the although the men try to remain vigilant, their courage is slipping. They keep hearing voices coming from the forest; shivers run up their spines as they go about their work, but it is not from the cold."

"You believe it to be because of this magic?"

"I do, for I have felt them too. Something is at work here, my king, something bigger than I think we realize just yet."

"Ashrim, tell me what you know of them, please. My knights, the councilmen, nobody seems to have any knowledge of these stars," Arthur said.

The captain's brow crunched. "What of, uh…uh," he stumbled, snapping his fingers as he tried to remember the name, "Gaius. That's it. It has been so long since I thought of him. He was once involved with these types of magic; now he—he would be the one to advise you.

"No, I'm afraid that's not possible," Arthur spoke quietly.

"Ah..." The captain took notice of the sadness in Arthur's eyes. "I'm sorry to hear that. He was always very instrumental to the cause back when your father was king."

"But since he is not here, I need you to tell me what you know." Arthur was persistent, but he had to know the truth.

"They are a rarity, sire. I know of only one other for sure, and that was many years before your birth."

The captain was attempting to be helpful but Arthur still needed more. As he talked, Arthur desired more and more to venture in and investigate this 'star' for himself. Though, the king did not want to walk blindly into a situation that they were not prepared for, but Ashrim seemed hesitant, and in response, Arthur had to be even more persistent. Even regardless of knowing the dangers they may face once they stepped beyond the forest line, he simply wanted to know more about them – what they were, what they were for. "Ashrim, I need to know everything that you can offer so that I am aware. A man is dead because of the news of this fallen star. It has to bear some significance"

"It is impossible to say for sure, Arthur, as each bears its own meaning."

"What 'meaning' could they have?" This king was only more confused.

The fire crackled and popped, and Ashrim ascended from him chair and tended to the flames. He poked at the embers with a metal rod and placed another log amidst the already charring ones.

"They are prophetic warnings, only seen before a time of great change in the balance of the world. Or so the legends go."

Arthur's eyes became downcast as his thoughts were drawn to the proclamation he had intended to make. No coincidences.

"You fought alongside my father in many battles. You were one of his most trusted and noble knights before the Purge – did he ever confide in you about these 'stars'?"

Captain Ashrim nodded, sitting back down and wiping spilt droplets of beer from his thick beard. "Uther asked Gaius once the same questions you are asking now, Arthur. It was right after your birth, and Ygraine's tragic death."

"My mother?" The captain nodded. "But you said that you hadn't seen a fallen star since well before my birth – so why would my father approach him on the subject then?"

"The last time we saw a fallen star, Uther and I were young knights in Constantine's army. It was on the eve of a great battle that would decide the rule of a certain territory, now known as part of Camelot. It appeared as a meteor that fell from the heavens; the men rejoiced and claimed that our victory was all but secured but your father…your father, however, dismissed them all as superstitious. We had heard the legends, but Uther never gave them weight. That's why I found it odd when he asked Gaius of them."

Arthur rested his hand against his head and massaged his temple puzzlingly. What would have caused his father to seemingly switch his stance on this mere "superstition" at that particular time, and so suddenly? "There is something that I was going to make into law yesterday, that is when I received the news."

"Yes, we had heard of your plans. Even in the seclusion of the wilderness, we are not oblivious to the talk of the city." Arthur appeared to have not heard the captain, for his gaze was drawn towards the table, and his thoughts were elsewhere.

Ashrim observed the king: he had seen the pensive stare before on the face of Uther. It was almost never a positive thing, for the elder Pendragon's thoughts often irresponsibly affected his actions.

"You sense a connection between the two?"

Arthur broke himself from his trance, again taking another sip from his drink; the warm liquid continuously soothed him, granting at least a minimal distraction from the chaotic nature of his brain. "It would be unwise not to consider it."

"I'm not going to sit across from you and lie, Arthur. I believe you to be right. But about Enduin, I've never heard of such a thing having to do with the fallen stars. My only thought is that someone didn't want that information to reach you. Another?" He held up the jug, to which Arthur declined.

"I need my wits about me on this night, friend."

"Why is that, my king?"

"Thank you for the drink. You have been most helpful, captain." Arthur turned the cup on its head and abruptly rose from his chair, making his way towards the door.

"You mean to seek it out?" The captain deduced.

"I wish to see it with my own eyes, to know for certain what is happening, to know why a soldier of Camelot was killed."

"You cannot go in there," Ashrim said, his voice growing stronger as his tone hardened. "Isn't Enduin's death reason enough? The forest is dangerous, but now you want to go searching for some volatile magic?"

Arthur stopped short. "You didn't say anything about it being so overtly treacherous, Ashrim. What is it you're not telling me?"

The captain opened his mouth to speak, and for a moment, no words came out. "This is the sort of brash behavior that tainted your father's rule. He never thought things through, never examined all possible outcomes before making his decision."

"Mind your tongue, captain." Arthur said, turning back towards Ashrim, who now rose to his feet, but the king remained undaunted as they stood in the great shadow of his old friend. "Remember that I am not just your friend, I am your king."

"Then as your fellow soldier, I advise you strongly not to venture into those woods."

"This _cannot _be a coincidence, and because of that we're going in."

"Bah, then whatever your reason, do what you will! I cannot stop you nor persuade you. Deep down you can be as stubborn as Uther. Sometimes that may be good, but in this instance it is not."

"I did not come for you to lecture me," Arthur retorted sharply; the anger began to swell inside of him – he hated being compared to Uther in such a manner. He was not his father, and both of them knew this.

"Yes, of course not." His booming, deep voice suddenly grew lower, and the captain conceded that at the end of the day, he could no longer speak to Arthur the man, the king, as he once did the young and restless Arthur the prince.

The growing irritation in Arthur's chest diminished – Ashrim had always been vocal, never afraid to stand up and voice his opinion to the king. He was just trying to help, offer his advice, and Arthur would be wise to consider it.

"I'm sorry," the king said.

The captain's face softened beneath his rugged, ginger beard. He looked on his king, the son of his old friend, with somber eyes, and knew that he was no longer a young boy who needed scolding. Now, he had taken the place of his father – a king. There was one major difference, though, between the two men that he noticed: Uther always sought council, as did Arthur, but only Arthur truly valued the opinions of others. With Uther, it was always ultimately his way. They were so much alike, the two of them, and yet, at the same time, they weren't. This gave the captain hope – for Uther was not always so tyrannical and hypocritical, as some might believe him to be – he exhibited some very noble qualities as king, but Arthur embodied that and more. He was something that Ashrim had never seen before, and it prided him to know that he now served Arthur, the King of Camelot.

"I have known you a long time, my dear sweet Arthur. Ever since you were born. Know that I hope to proudly serve you for many years to come."

Arthur smiled widely. Every day he found himself more and more proud of the nobility and loyalty that his knights exemplified. With Captain Ashrim, a man who many might assume to be a mindless oaf who could do nothing else well besides swing an axe, the king saw an intelligent and true friend, one who was not afraid to stand up for what he thought was right, and Arthur respected that. "Thanks you for your help," Arthur said. "Rest assured that your men will be taken care of here. You will not be forgotten. And with that, the king began to make his way out of the door but stopped short again. "Captain," Arthur moved back into the doorway. "I'm sorry…one last question."

"Yes, sire?"

"Did you know…back then? When my father had magic banned, did you know what would happen to all of those people?"

Ashrim inhaled sharply and set his cup down upon the wooden table next to Arthur's. "I think I didn't want to believe that it would happen the way it did, but I always knew in the back of my mind that it would."

"Did you agree with my father?"

The captain took a moment, staring blankly at his king. "No."

* * *

The evening soon faded into the still hours of the early morning. Outside, not a soul lingered; all of the guards were either asleep or huddled up near their posts. The storms that Arthur and his company had seen atop the mountains were finally beginning to stir, and would surely make their presence known by dawn. Ashrim had stalled the patrols for the night, and he was most definitely right to do so.

Arthur lay upon a soft blanket of animal fur, resting on the stone floor of the feasting hall. Their barracks were all but bursting at the seams as the men flocked to take shelter from the weather, but the king refused to take someone's bed from them, electing to sleep in the hall instead, as did the knights.

A grand, roaring fire kept him moderately warm, although his fingers and toes had started to numb slightly. But the king didn't mind. Yet, Arthur had been unable to sleep, and what seemed to be several hours passed as he lay before the flames staring up at the ceiling of the keep. He never used to have these feelings of insomnia, but lately so much had been on his mind that he rarely found the time to sleep for any decent period. Back home in Camelot, Arthur tossed and turned repeatedly to the point where he would retreat to the council chambers in the wee hours of the morning to work on anything that he thought and hoped would bore him into sleepiness.

Right now, though, there was nothing to coax him into dormancy. All he felt was the solid stone beneath his back, and the chill of the winter air.

Arthur reflected back on the conversation he had with Ashrim earlier that evening, and repeated his words in his mind. They had accomplished the first part of their journey, and, for the most part, all was well in the encampment. But although the captain's explanations were enlightening to the king, Arthur's concerns had all but been affirmed. Whatever it was, this 'fallen star', he believed it had something to do with the law he was about to announce, and the attack on Enduin, the soldier, was the result of something who didn't want the king to know of this prophetic star's existence.

But now Arthur faced a difficult decision. Ashrim had warned him of going into the forest and seeking out the star, and Arthur trusted in the knowledge and experience of his friend. But at the same time, he couldn't help but wonder and desire to see what lay smoldering amidst the trees. Curiosity is not a sin, but Arthur knew he must exercise caution.

Every now and then, a man would enter into the hall and place another log or two upon the flames, poking at the embers. All else was silent; only the soft crackling of the fire penetrated the eeriness. It was quiet and peaceful, two things that Arthur did not associate when sleeping around his knights. curious.

He ascended to his feet and noticed that all of their make-shift beds were empty, and that he was alone in the hall, for the firewood-bearing man had left several minutes before.

Curious indeed.

After sliding on a thick, rugged leather shirt and wool cloak that Ashrim had provided, which proved to be more like a flowing robe on Arthur, the king slowly made his way out into the corridor, careful to step as light as possible. He had nothing else to do, and lying there purposelessly wasn't going to help get him to sleep.

The king reached the door of the keep and the two guards immediately stepped aside, granting him exit. As Arthur stepped out into the cold night, a great ominous feel engulfed him. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, the frigid air chilling his lungs. The dark forest to the left of the outpost stood silent, and far out beyond the gates laid the looming outlines of the mountains, faded by the darkness. The outpost was void of all life, save a small congregation around a tiny fire.

"What brings you out here, sire?" Elyan asked as the king approached from behind.

"I could ask you all the same question," Arthur quipped, pulling the cloak tighter around him as he sat next to his friends around the fire.

"Can't sleep," Percival responded.

"Same," Leon seconded, to which Elyan nodded in agreement as well.

"Well Gwaine, what's your excuse?"

Gwaine remained silent, causing the rest of the knights to look at him curiously. "Oh, I just want to know what's out there in the forest," he flashed a smile.

Arthur smirked and shook his head. "I told you – we're not going."

"So we came all this way…for nothing."

"Not nothing."

"What then? We've come this far, why turn back? What could Ashrim have said to deter you in such a way?" Gwaine had asked the question, but by the look on all of the knight's faces, they were all wondering the same thing.

"Just…just trust me on this, friends. Please." Arthur insisted that they all just let it go. He had already told the knights that they would not be going into the forest, and instead would spend the day helping out around the outpost as the men braced for the storms. But even though the king had supposedly made up his mind, Arthur couldn't help but want to enter the forest and see for themselves what lay there. After all, they had come all this way. Though, he did not tell his friends this. Gwaine would be the most persistent, but all of his knights would desire to go into the forest anyway. And Arthur, at his core, knew that he would probably give in at some point, for even he still somewhat desired to know truly what lay beyond the trees.

For the next hour the company sat around the fire telling jokes and conversing with one another. By the time the moon shown fully above them, Elyan had fallen fast asleep. They did not feel the cold, for the warmth of the fire and the act of friendly conversation shielded them. As they sat beneath the starry night with each other as their company, it was just like old times when they been on missions together; simply the best of friends enjoying the night, not a care in the world.

Gwaine had begun to tell a rather unfortunate and provocative story about a certain woman he had once encountered in a pub before he had become a knight. As they all listened, with both Leon and Percival laughing and shaking their heads in disgust multiple times, Arthur tended to a pot overhanging the fire. Long ago, he had someone to do this for him. However, apart from other things he might not have been so successful at, the king was actually getting quite good at cooking. Arthur was sure of this simply because he had prepared dinner for his wife several times, and Guinevere was always one he could rely on to being perfectly honest with him. And, to his initial surprise and satisfaction, she thoroughly enjoyed his culinary skills. Though, she maintained a short leash upon her praises; Gwen didn't want Arthur getting an even bigger boost to his ego.

Arthur watched as the steam from the simmering stew rose into the night. Yes, he missed being at home in the warmth and comfort of his own bed, but there was something about being out in the wilderness with your closest friends, a hot fire and a good meal at your side, that the king was simply content with. Arthur smiled to himself, placing a spoonful of soup in a small wooden bowl. All was well—

Far over the mountains, through the twisting, bare limbs of the trees, a shrilling, terrified scream rose over the eerie stillness, echoing through the forest until it made its way into the camp.

"What the hell was that?" Gwaine's ears perked. The rest of the knights around the fire immediately ceased their chatter, their heads drawn to the direction of the scream as it faded into the night. "You heard that as well, right?"

Arthur dropped his freshly poured stew to the ground, rising to his feet in an instant. Percival, Leon, and Gwaine did the same, waking Elyan in the process.

"What's going on?" He yawned sleepily.

"It came from over there," Arthur pointed out past their encampment, "out in the forest."

"I've never heard a scream like that," Percival whispered.

The king acknowledged the direction it had come from: right where the evening patrols made their rounds – right where the star was said to have fallen. "Prepare yourselves," the king commanded without a moment's hesitation, summoning Excalibur from its sheath, its blade glinting in the moonlight.

"Should we wake the others?" Leon asked.

"No time," Arthur replied. "We go alone."

_The adventure continues…_


	5. The Festering

The Festering

_A/N: I know these first few chapters may seem confusing and slow to some, but please allow me to clarify. My intent is for everything that has transpired thus far to simply be the set up for the story to come. Obviously, I've been very vague and secretive, not fully explaining why certain things are being said or why certain things are happening. The biggest question of all, I think, is the absence of one particular sorcerer. I ask that you please bear with me, because I hope that once all of these questions are finally answered (soon enough!), everything will make sense, and it will have been worth the wait._

**This chapter contains graphic/violent content.**

They moved fast, unseen – like ghosts in the night. Blurring with the trees, the group sped through the forest, dodging and vaulting over plants, roots, and fallen limbs. They advanced without rest or deterrence, barreling straight forward, deeper and deeper into the shaded wood. At the head of their group was Arthur, their king, who led the charge with his sword at the ready – prepared to strike at a moment's notice, followed closely by Gwaine, Elyan, Leon, and Percival.

The cry which they had heard from the camp repeated again and again, calling out into the night, and each time growing louder and more distinct.

They were getting close.

It wailed through the trees with indescribable ferocity, sending shivers down their spines. Arthur couldn't discern what was making it, for in truth the wretched scream sounded like neither man nor beast.

Arthur and his company had abandoned their fireside chat with haste, taking only enough time to grab the nearest gear before they exited the safety of the keep, and journeyed into the unknown of the forest. Their weapons were stowed away with the rest of their gear in the hall, and so they had to make do with what they could find lying around the encampment. The king shed his oversized cloak and found a leather breastplate to wear instead. He had fastened Excalibur to his side before coming out to join his friends, and so searching for a weapon was not an issue for him. As the knights scrambled for armor and weapons, Arthur listened for the scream as it came again and again. Meanwhile, Gwaine, Elyan, and Leon acquired swords that were leaning against the wall of a forge, and Percival armed himself with a giant battle axe, pulling a small hatchet from a stump just in case.

They had been running for only minutes but already the pain and weariness of exhaustion was beginning to set in. After the long ride, none of them had much time to recuperate, and a sudden chase into the wild was doing their bodies no favors.

With each powerful stride, Arthur's legs burned with an intense fire. Adrenaline fueled his body, sending him many yards ahead of all the others. Something about the terrified cry called to him; he wasn't sure what, or why, but it pulled him closer, gripping at his mind.

Everything around him disappeared – the trees, the plants – until only the echoing shriek throbbed inside his head over and over. It entranced the king, and in that moment there was no logical thought, no threat of danger; as they plunged further – only the scream, a hollow beckoning, made sense to Arthur as he pressed on.

The spherical, pale moon shone brightly overhead, but it granted them no luxury of light; they passed by bare and lifeless trees, void of all leaves, but the great pines that overshadowed the dormant timber prevented any illumination from reaching the forest floor. As they journeyed into the nearly complete blackness, Arthur could see no more than a few feet in front of his face – and the knights could only follow the darting outline of their king for guidance – but neither direction nor sight mattered. Clarity had all but vanished, and it was curiosity of the unknown that propelled them.

And suddenly the continuous howl stopped, fading immediately into the silence of the forest. Arthur came to a halt, prompting his knights to do the same. His chest heaved violently as he sucked in as much air as possible with each gasping breath. The king looked around, his eyes nearly blinded by the murkiness, trying to get a feel for his surroundings, but he was hardly able to make out his friends who stood before him, let alone any person or creature who might've been the source of the scream.

"What now?" Gwaine asked through labored breaths.

Their only sense of direction had been extinguished, and it was now that Arthur finally realized how alone they were. He turned back, but the light of the forest edge was no longer in sight. Long gone.

Truly, they were on their own.

"I don't know," Arthur replied. He looked around quizzically – surely they should have found something by now. The cry was loud from the moment they stepped into the forest, nearly on top of them. His mind started to race. No, it couldn't have been a hallucination – they had all heard it. The scream was definitely real – but what caused it to cease?

Suddenly they heard a noise – the snap of a branch not far in front of them. And there, again, another crunch – a footstep.

Arthur's heart began beating faster and faster within his heaving chest. He kneeled close to the ground, motioning for the knights to do the same. Together they bent downwards, their eyes scanning the forest as best they could.

Another snap broke through the stillness, and it was growing closer. Arthur positioned himself behind a nearby boulder, Excalibur clenched tight in his hands, and stealthily lifted his head upwards, glancing over the rock towards the direction of the noise.

The leaves before him ruffled, once and again, only more noticeably this time. The knights behind the king knelt on bended knee, their heels digging into the frozen earth, poised and ready for whatever came from the brush. Arthur closed his eyes momentarily, trying to regain his composure and reduce his heart rate. He noticed a small divot in the boulder and quickly planned his attack: stand, jump, and go for the kill. Got it. He repeated the steps again and again, choreographing every small detail of the strike. Another rustling of the leaves – here we go.

A large, four-legged creature stumbled out from the dense shrubbery. Arthur raised Excalibur but soon stayed his own hand: a doe made her way across the forest floor before the company, and the king breathed a sigh of relief, rolling his eyes. He caught the attention of his knights and nodded that all was okay.

But something wasn't right. As Arthur continued to look on, the deer groaned in pain and staggered – almost as if it had been struck by the arrow of a crossbow. Arthur watched as it teetered to and fro on its hooves, moaning and whipping its head back and forth violently before it collapsed to the frozen ground with a thud. The king lowered his head and checked the trees once again, searching for any sign of a hunter. But as he looked back at the beast, he could find no arrow embedded in its body. Then Arthur noticed it, a small bite just above her shoulder. The skin around the mark had blackened, and suddenly his blood ran cold. The doe's body twitched as a strange black liquid began seeping from the wound in her neck. Her body went limp and in an instant, she was dead.

The king looked on in horror, and instantly his heart began thumping wildly in his chest once more. Arthur turned back to his knights to make sure they were all okay, and was mildly relieved to see them all staring back at him.

"What's wrong, sire?" Leon asked when he noticed the deeply troubled look on Arthur's face.

The king sat silently for a moment with his mouth slightly ajar. The image of Enduin's rotting corpse flooded back into his mind and a chill ran down his spine as the realization began to set in. Arthur called his knights in closer and they soon joined him at the rock.

"This just keeps getting stranger," Gwaine whispered, taking notice of the deer carcass.

"What happened to the beast?" Leon asked.

But before Arthur could answer, the high-pitched shriek bellowed again, only this time it had come from behind them. The company looked to their flank, but there was nothing to be seen.

"Time to go," Arthur said. He tried to put the sight he had just seen out of his mind, for right now there was only one concern: Arthur had to get his men out alive. He hurriedly pushed off from the boulder and instructed his knights to venture onwards. The party of five took off through the forest with Arthur following closely behind. Their muscles had stiffened from stalling and now ached with each step.

The knights stumbled through the brush, catching their faces on overhanging branches and leaves. The king watched from behind as Elyan, Gwaine, Percival, and Leon each dashed ahead of him; they passed through a thickened line of pine trees and suddenly vanished, nowhere to be seen. Arthur pushed forward into the pines and moved a final branch from his view and suddenly the darkness around him receded, as if a blind fold was ripped away from his eyes.

The king joined his company as they stood on the edge of a small clearing. Before them lay a meadow of frozen grass; the opening was lined with tall pines, rising high into the starry sky. Arthur glanced behind them again: the trees were so thick that one could walk right by the clearing and be none the wiser.

"What is this place?" Questioned Elyan as Arthur approached them, but he received no response, for the attention of his friends was stolen by the sight which lay before them.

A small, smoldering crater lay in the midst of the grassy opening, leaving a trail of upturned earth and sparkling ash in its wake. Thick clouds of smoke ascended from the depression and flowed into the night. The only sound was the subtle crackling of the embers as they popped inside the heated epicenter.

"We found it," Arthur said in awe.

Just then, a gentle, nearly silent groan emitted from deep within the crater. Arthur and the knights exchanged looks – none of them had made the noise; it had definitely come from the crash site in front of them. As the company cautiously approached, stepping further out into opening, the voice grew louder. When they reached the edge, the grass singed away beneath their feet, Arthur noticed something…something, there, through the thick and ashy smoke. It moved, stumbling around the smoking crater, obviously disoriented. His jaw dropped slightly, for even the king of Camelot was not at sure of what it was before him.

Amidst the black smoke was the body of a naked man. His skin was scalded and blackened; any hair or clothes he once might've had had been burnt away. As he moved, cracks formed in his skin revealing a core of white-hot lava beneath.

The king knelt and beheld the man – had he come from the sky?

As he wobbled around, the mysterious humanoid seemed to have sensed Arthur's thoughts and looked up at him through the hot smoke with hollow sockets.

"Are you…Arthur?" The man choked out through wheezing breaths.

The king stood silent for a moment in disbelief. "Yes," he finally uttered.

The burnt man nodded. He groaned again, grasping at the earth and attempted to pull himself up over the side of the abysm. He reached up out of the crater and gently placed his shriveled hand on Arthur's wrist. Before he had a chance to react, the king's mind suddenly grew hazy, his surroundings blurred, and everything went black…

…

A sudden flash. A spark. Arthur's being roared to life, igniting like a fire. His eyes burst open, taking in the darkness that swallowed him. He was alone, suspended in nothingness, for nothing else seemed to exist where he was. The endless abyss lay before him, mocking him, and there was nothing to be done. Arthur, with all his strength and might, was powerless to move.

A swirling mass of smoke and ash appeared before him, shapeless and unidentifiable. It twisted and contorted, slowly growing larger in size. Arthur, unable to turn away, looked on as the dark creation slithered towards him, slivers of black smoke sliding off of it as it approached. Sliced from the fabric of the dark, it began to take form, and from the nothingness emerged a figure, cloaked in black. It circled the king methodically, not speaking a word – yet taunting him. He could feel it deep within his body, a tormenting sense of hopelessness and inevitability. He could not stop it, could not fight it, for it stalked him, burrowing deep within his brain.

'What do you want?' He tried to speak, but his lips didn't move – they couldn't – even though he felt them trembling.

A terrifying whisper shivered up his spine._ Can you feel it, dear Arthur, closing in all around you?_

Arthur gasped…Mor—

The shadows instantly faded away, and once again Arthur was consumed by darkness. _Flash_. He saw a city, burning and under siege. From afar he could not recognize it, but as he approached, soaring over the trees, the full view of the attack opened up to him: The city was in flames, and most of its stone buildings had crumbled beneath the bombardment of the catapults. Countless men broke upon the outer walls and massive magical creature which Arthur did not recognize stormed through the gates and up into streets of the lower town. He swept up over the city, watching as its citizens fled for their lives in the wake of these monstrous creatures. As he approached the citadel, the king saw that the cobblestone courtyard was painted crimson by red cloaks. Countless bodies laid upon each other, lifeless, each bearing the Pendragon crest.

"Find her!" He heard someone shout above the battle. "Bring me the queen."

Another flash, and Arthur's mind was suddenly filled with the chaos of war: in the middle of a great valley, two armies raged in battle. He slipped along like a ghost, invisible and untouchable, through the masses of soldiers, until he came to a small hill jutting out from the ground. Arthur ascended the incline, rising up over all else, and saw the destruction wrought by the war: on one side, the Knights of Camelot, valiantly fighting back against an unknown enemy of thousands. A loud crack rumbled through the air, and suddenly Arthur stood upon the ground, Excalibur in his hand, and before him was the figure.

Arthur tilted his head: something about the apparition before him seemed so…familiar. It looked on him from beneath its hood, and although the king could not see a face, he could feel its gaze upon him.

The figure charged forward, outstretching a shortened, jagged blade. Arthur's eyes widened; he tried to lift his arms, desperately pulling with all his might, but they remained secured at his sides. Excalibur slipped from his grasp, and Arthur fell to his knees, bound to the ground by an invisible force. He watched as the shade approached; it raised the blade to the sky, and a chorus of cries rang out across the battlefield, rejoicing.

With one single, swift jab, Arthur collapsed to the ground. The king gasped, but no amount of air would sate him. A white-hot pain stung at his chest and he reached up, pulling the blade from his body, and felt the warm red liquid gush from the wound. His body ran cold, and once again his vision blurred into nothingness.

A deathly stillness overtook him.

"Tell me where he is," he heard a distorted voice echo through the dark.

"No."

"Tell me where he is, or I will kill you."

_Flash_. Arthur saw his throne room, and sitting proudly atop his golden seat was a figure he could not recognize. Before him, surrounded by masked soldiers, knelt a man with short, black hair; he bowed his head, hiding his face, but Arthur could hear his voice.

"You will never find him," the man said. "I will never tell you."

"Your arrogance blinds you, sorcerer," the figure sitting atop the throne snarled. "You think your magic will save you, and that everything will be alright. This is an illusion.

"He abandoned you here to die in this ruined city, and yet you still defend him?"

"I wouldn't expect you to understand."

The figure smirked. "Very well. Your reluctance has cost you your life, Emrys."

_Can you feel it? _The voice whispered in Arthur's head. _Knowing that no matter what you do, you cannot stay fate's hand?_

Arthur snapped to life, gasping for air as he awoke on the ground. The man removed his hand, leaving a swelling burn on Arthur's forearm. And as quickly as it had begun, it was over.

"This is what will become of you," spoke the man. He looked on the king one final time, and even though his body – every lingering inch of his 'humanity' had been burnt and purged away, sorrow filled his eyeless sockets – as if to say 'I'm sorry'. He breathed one last time, wheezing as the smoky air attempted to fill his lungs, and fell backwards into the pit. His body instantly dissolved into ash and dissipated into the night.

The air around them immediately filled with loud shrills. Together they shouted in a chorus from the trees that surrounded the clearing, each one overlapping with the other. The knights snapped to attention, holding their swords at the ready once again.

Arthur collapsed to the ground, his head spinning uncontrollably. A queasy sickness pained his insides, and the king's vision faded in and out.

"We have to get him out of here," Leon said.

The knights pulled the dazed Arthur to his feet and bolted from the clearing, making their way hurriedly towards the edge, the sounds of the cries ringing in their ears. When they had reached the tree line, Arthur looked back one final time, only to notice –

"Where's Elyan?" He slurred, stopping short. The knights looked around, unaware that their friend was missing from their company.

Arthur's hazy eyes feverishly scoured the clearing, searching the open space for any signs of Elyan until – there. Through the rising smoke, the king noticed two figures wrestling on the ground. One was Elyan, and the other—

A large and lanky creature had latched itself onto Elyan. It wrapped its legs around his torso tightly and was dragging him to the ground, ripping and gnawing at his mail armor. He grabbed it firmly by the arm and wrenched it from his back, but the creature persisted, crawling along the grass as Elyan attempted to escape. It clawed at his ankles, trying desperately to re-attach itself to the knight.

Percival dashed forward in an instant back out into the open, flying past the crater with incredible speed. He sprinted towards his friend and pulled the battle axe from his back, letting loose his weapon as it connected with the creature's neck, sending its head flying off into the dark.

"Are you okay?" Percival asked as he knelt down to inspect Elyan who lay squirming on the ground.

"No, it just—it b-bit me," the injured knight winced, clenching tight to his forearm.

Arthur, his head still spinning, Gwaine and Leon rushed over to their friend's side.

"What happened?"

"It's his arm," Percival said to them as he pulled the chain mail away from Elyan's body, revealing the dreaded bite that punctured deep within his skin; it had already begun to fester, staining his flesh deathly black, and reeked of rotting corpses.

"Oh no."

The wound already showed signs of infection, swelling around his wrist. Elyan cried out as a vile black liquid filled his veins and snaked up his arm, constricting his muscles.

"What do we do? What are we going to do?" Percival asked.

"We need to get him back to the encampment, to a physician," Arthur replied, slowly regaining his wits.

"Will we make it there?"

"There's no other option. We must move. Now!"

"Okay, let's get him up. Go!" Percival and Leon reached down, pulling each of Elyan's arms over their shoulders and hoisted him to his feet. The injured knight was fading fast and wobbled, barely managing to keep his balance even with his friends supporting him.

The company set out as quickly as they could across the opening, stumbling along as they tried to maintain a steady pace, all the while pulling along Elyan who was fading fast.

As they passed by the smoldering crater once again, it erupted into the sky, exploding with a loud, thunderous crack. A seething funnel of fire and ash shot up from the hole, swirling around and stinging at their flesh. Elyan collapsed to the ground once more, clutching tight to his injured arm.

"What happened? Did the fire hit him?" Arthur yelled over the commotion.

"No, sire, it's his arm," Leon observed, kneeling back down over Elyan. "Arthur, I don't know if he's going to make it back to the camp – the infection is already spreading too quickly!"

"We cannot just sit here and let him die!"

"Arthur," Percival joined in, "There could be another way."

"What?" The king looked confused.

Percival looked at Gwaine and Leon. "We can…we can get rid of it."

"What are you suggesting?" Gwaine inquired.

"If we work fast...we can eliminate the source of the bite before it reaches the rest of his body."

"No," Arthur refuted. "No we cannot."

"Are you saying we cut off his arm?"

"I'm saying that it could work. It may or may not but we really don't have any other choices."

"We're not going to mutilate our friend. There must be another way!" Arthur demanded.

"Arthur, there is none! If we want Elyan to live, we cannot wait."

"We CANNOT cut off his arm!"

"Then we condemn him! He will not make it back."

"Sire," Leon interjected, stepping between them. "Perhaps he's right."

"Gah!" Arthur growled in frustration. In his head, the king mulled over every possible option – what could they do to save the life of their friend? But he conceded – there were no other ways. Elyan's skin had already begun to grow ghostly white, and the bite near his hand throbbed with excruciating pain, swelling by the second with the revolting black liquid. They were too far away from Camelot for sure, and even if they made it back to the keep near the edge of the forest, there was no telling if any physician there could treat this wound – for none of the knights had seen such a creature before, and nobody else would have likely either; Arthur knew in his heart that it was a beast of magic, it had to be. And Enduin…he could not let Elyan share the same, tragic fate.

"Okay," Arthur nodded, and as much as the words pained him, "okay," he repeated, "do it – save him."

Percival nodded, and the reality of what he had suggested slowly began to creep up on him. He hesitated a moment before reaching around and pulling the hatchet from his belt. "Hold him," he instructed Gwaine. The knight complied, grabbing Elyan's squirming arm and leg and pressed them to the earth as best he could.

"Do it fast," instructed Arthur turning away with a grimace on his face – he couldn't bear to watch.

Leon noticed a movement behind Arthur's shoulder and glanced behind the king. A creature with greasy, black skin stood on two legs on the opposite edge of the clearing. It glared with glowing, yellow eyes, black liquid leaking from its beak-like face, and remained unmoved – like a statue.

"Arthur," Leon said, catching the attention of the unaware king.

Arthur slowly turned his head, and caught the unknown creature in his glance. Their eyes locked, and for the first time in a long time, Arthur felt fear. It rose from the pit of his stomach and clenched at his gut. Finally, they had come face to face with the bearer of the bite. It opened its mouth, as if to smile devilishly, and revealed its grotesque, fanged teeth.

More growls came from the trees all around them. Arthur and Leon turned and turned, watching as several more of the beasts stepped out into the clearing. And suddenly they were surrounded.

"He's fading," Gwaine said as he struggled to keep Elyan's limbs to the ground.

The beasts encircled the company, slowly stepping towards them. "What do you want to do here, Arthur?"

The beak-faced monstrosities closed in further, and the gap was shrinking fast. The king felt adrenaline kick into his bloodstream again. "You take that side," Arthur replied, shaking off the last of his dizziness. "Go!"

Percival grabbed his axe and jolted to his feet, prepared to fight at his friend's side.

"No!" Arthur yelled, holding his arm stiff against Percival's chest. "Take care of Elyan, we got this."

"You're sure?"

"We'll give you the time you need. Just hurry!"

Arthur and Leon sprinted off in opposite directions, creating a two man barrier around the three knights. The creatures growled again and began to charge, dropping on all fours and barreling towards the company. Arthur raised Excalibur in his hand, watching and waiting as the beasts approached.

They moved faster with each step, picking up speed until they were all but on top of the knights. Arthur ducked down, slashing upwards and decapitating another creature as it leapt. He didn't have long to reset, for yet another black beast assaulted him, and another. The lanky creatures attacked in droves, more and more of them flooding out from the darkness of the forest. Leon and Arthur danced around, dodging and slicing through wave after wave as they swarmed.

The bodies began to pile up, corrupting the earth as they quickly decomposed. Their rotting flesh emanated a putrid smell into the air, stinging at their lungs, but they fought on.

Arthur honed in, eliminating all other distractions, and focused solely on the fight before him. He gripped the golden hilt tight in his hand and watched as the creatures poured from the tree line. They leapt towards him with their fangs barred, but they were no match for the swordsmanship of the king. He stepped aside and dodged their claws and poisonous teeth, avoiding them with ease, and unleashed the fury of his blade. One approached from his left, and Arthur raised his foot, meeting the leaping creature in mid-air. The beast's skeletal chest connected with Arthur's boot and it dropped to the ground, sliding backwards and into the blazing crater. The king waltzed around across the opening, and everything in Arthur's path fell before him; he was unstoppable, and he knew it.

"Do it, Percival!" Gwaine screamed. They were running low on time – who knows how long they would be able to fend off the creatures.

The knight nodded, looking down at Elyan with a fear in his eye.

"PERCIVAL NOW!" Leon pressed, slicing through another beast.

This was it. There was no more hesitating, no more waiting or thinking it through. Their window of opportunity was shrinking by the second; Arthur and Leon could only hold off the attacking creatures for so long. This had to be done – now. Percival inhaled deeply, holding the cold air tight within his lungs, and raised the weapon high above his head. He felt his muscles constrict and his knuckles whitened as they gripped tight to the handle. With one swift blow, Percival wrenched the hatchet downwards, slamming the thick, sharpened head into the arm of his friend. Elyan cried out in agony, writhing on the ground as Gwaine tried to subdue him.

The metal pierced his skin and sliced through his flesh with ease, but it was not enough. Percival withdrew the hatchet from Elyan's infected arm, a concoction of blood and black liquid spurting from the gash, and hacked again. And again. The blade cracked against his bone, and Elyan's tormented cries were renewed.

"One more," Percival said, his blood-coated hands trembling, barely able to maintain his grasp on the weapon. "Just one more."

The knight raised the hatchet one final time, slamming it down into the wound. Percival pushed hard on the handle, powering the blade through Elyan's bone until he felt it give way, and the hatchet embedded itself in the blood-stained grass beneath. Percival grabbed tight to Elyan's infected wrist and pulled, wrenching his arm free of his body. The dark black liquid emptied out onto the earth, causing Gwaine and Percival to cough and gag as the scent rose up and filled their nostrils.

Arthur watched, his chest heaving, as the waves of demonic creatures suddenly stopped. He stabbed through one final fiend, shoving his sword through its mouth, and pushed it to the side. The chorus of violent yelps receded back into the trees. Arthur looked around, but no more came from the forest. He caught Leon's gaze from across the field and nodded – acknowledging that they were both okay.

They looked on as the volcanic funnel within the crater stalled and faltered; the flames sputtered, quickly disappearing into the night. A great cloud of ash and burning embers rose from the hole, and once again all was silent.

Elyan's cries had ceased, and as Percival and Gwaine knelt over him, helpless to do anything, his body paled and became as cold as the air that surrounded them.

Through the chaos, Arthur caught Elyan's lifeless form out of the corner of his eye. He immediately rushed over to him, dropping the blood-stained Excalibur in the snow.

"ELYAN?!"

_The adventure continues…_


	6. The Council of the Dark Lady

The Council of the Dark Lady

"_The star has fallen, my Lady. Our time has come."_

On the edge of a large, open plain sat a single settlement that extended high above the ground; surrounded by a grand, stone wall, the city clung tight to the rocky cliff overlooking the thrashing ocean below. The night was cold and dreary, and rain poured from the heavens, plummeting towards the earth in giant aqua droplets. Not a single person could be found walking the cobblestone streets, for it was far too bitter outside. The extravagant architecture of the many small houses accumulated within the walls was shaded by the night as they braved the harsh weather battering their structures.

Far below the towering citadel, near the mouth of the city, stood an imposing metal gate; its wrought-iron bars loomed high, looking out over the path that led away from the settlement and deep into the forest. They were icy to the touch, serving as a rather miniscule defense for such an important congregation.

From the shadows of the forest sprung a black, stalwart horse; it had traveled a great distance through the evening, but remained resilient and strong enough to brave the conditions, slamming its hooves into the tundra below as the hollow air filled its lungs again and again, blowing out in clouds of icy air from its nostrils. A man sat perched upon its back; he bent over slightly, positioning his head behind that of the horses so as to keep the wind from biting at his tender skin.

The steed galloped onwards, its rider's cloak flapping viciously behind, as it climbed a small embankment and rounded a corner until the silent city was at last in sight.

The horse trotted to a halt and the cloaked man atop its back gazed out across the plain at the silent city before him. "Presque là, Brego," he whispered beneath his hood, patting the steed gently on its neck.

* * *

High above the city streets stood a large and once-majestic citadel. It emerged only from the cover of the clouds hanging low in the night sky when a flash of lightning illuminated its surroundings. Constructed of blackened stone, the mighty structure loomed high above all others in the city, yet, like all else, remained unmoved and quiet as it stood amongst the wind and rain.

Concealed within its solid stone was a decorated room, much longer than it was wide. Its walls were draped with elegant tapestries and there were golden heirlooms placed around which sparkled with candlelight. The air was still and cold, even with the warming flames of a fire which roared continuously in a pit carved into the stone wall.

In the middle of the room was a long, rectangular table, reaching almost from end to end of the chamber, and seated around it were a host of silent figures. They were those who had come from all across the five kingdoms to gather for this meet. Twelve there were in total, those who had dabbled in many different walks in life, but now all shared the same curiosity, confusion, and anxiety. At the head of their table was a woman clothed in black. A drooping hood hung heavy over her face, but the guests who surrounded her could feel her piercing eyes staring out, waiting.

"Will he be arriving soon, milady?" Piped a man sitting to her left. His voice squeaked with nervousness, unaware if his asking would offend the woman.

"Shortly," she responded.

Minutes past in continued silence, and the woman at the head of the table remained unmoved. Those seated around her began to grow uncomfortable, if they weren't already, and wondered just who they were waiting for, and for what. The crackling embers of the fire popped and sizzled, creating the only sound in an otherwise lifeless atmosphere. Suddenly the woman cocked her head, as if to catch wind of something, and her glowing eyes drifted immediately towards a giant, wooden door to the left side of the room.

The bronze handle twisted, and slowly the door opened, letting in a whoosh of cold air that tamed the candlelit flames for a moment. Through the darkness of the hallway from outside, a frigid man huddled beneath his cloak strode into the room, his boots squishing against his feet as the rain water left trails of footprints behind him.

"Ah, Arawn," the woman greeted him with a smile. "You are nearly late."

"Morgana," he returned her smile, kneeling briefly before her. "The storm has reared its ugly head, but I trust you will be most pleased when you hear what I have to say."

She nodded in response. "Please," the witch motioned to an empty chair on her right. "Sit."

The old sorcerer shuffled over, shedding his drenched cape, and gently lowered himself into the chair.

"For you troubles," Morgana said, and with a flick of her wrist, Arawn's clothes were dry, and the coldness he had felt for so long left him and was replaced with warmth.

"Thank you, my lady," he said.

"My friends," she greeted them all, "I know you must all be wondering…why you were called here tonight. You see, our dearest Relic has brought with him urgent news. News that, I pray, will mark the beginning of our purging crusade."

Those around the table murmured in a hushed whisper to one another, each wondering the purpose of their summons.

"Arawn," Morgana gestured with her hand. "Go ahead."

"Yesterday evening," the old wizard began, and the soft voices ceased, "at sundown, a thunderous quake shook the forest floor. It riled the druid people, who had taken notice of a great fire falling from the sky." Such unusual news caused each brow to scrunch. "A druid brought me this news, and when he had described it, I knew instantly what it was: It was a Fallen Star, a prophetic warning." The whispers were renewed at the old man's proclamation.

"You are sure of this?" Asked an older woman seated to Arawn's right.

"There is no doubt in my mind, dear Annwn," he responded soundly. "I have seen the phenomenon before, so I know it to be true."

"And how do we know these druid people to be trustworthy in their testimony, Arawn?" Inquired another, deeper voice: Gron, who sat near the opposite end; several more chimed in at once, both in agreement and skepticism. "Could he not have fabricated his claims?"

Arawn nodded. "Valid concerns, my friends, but I assure you: I saw the wonder in his eyes, felt the fear of unknowing in his heart…What he said, the words he spoke, were that of the truth."

"Where is this 'druid' so that I may speak with him?" Morgana asked, but Arawn remained silent for a moment.

"I'm afraid he is indisposed, milady," the man sitting opposite her answered for him. "For I, too, saw this star, and I was by the druid's side when he did so as well."

The Lady Morgana peered down the table at the man and took a moment to understand his words. "Then my feelings are confirmed fact…They are tied together…" She trailed off, now seemingly disinterested, at least for the moment, in the meeting around her, and instead focused on the thoughts that had been pulling at her recently. With the confirmation that the fire in the sky was indeed a fallen star, Morgana felt for sure that she was correct.

"And we are to assume the reasoning behind our summons is because of this 'star'?"

"Yes," came Morgana's response, snapping out of her trance. Once again, all eyes turned towards the lady at the head of the table. "If this 'fallen star' does indeed bear the words of a prophecy, as they have been known to do in the past, then it is imperative that we, lasting followers of the Old Ways, uncover its purpose."

"And if I am not mistaken, milady – you yourself have constructed a theory," implied the old messenger.

The witch nodded in agreement. "Not a theory, not anymore. As a young girl I consistently experienced dreams, over and over, visions that showed the future. It has been a long time, but recently I have been gifted with renewed flashes of a time soon coming where everything will change. Camelot has enjoyed five years of peace, five years with Arthur upon the throne. And now they seek to end this ongoing war – to purge no more. This fallen star…The two events have to be in correspondence with one another!"

"But as you said, you know of what the king plans to do," Gron reminded.

"Yes," she said again, "but his folly, half-hearted attempts to bring peace between Camelot and those with magic are for his own selfish gain, I assure you. Uther's blood still flows within his veins and Arthur's prejudice will have not been so easily extinguished.

"I know my brother," she paused – the word itself was a foul taste upon her tongue. "If Arthur wishes for a united kingdom at peace, then he will be forced to embrace magic. But he will never truly free us, or look upon our people with equality."

"You seem so very confident about him, my Lady," interjected Annwn. "For even though he is your brother by blood, it has been several years – and time and experience may have altered the young king's mindset."

"I have seen firsthand the cruelty of my family, councilor," Morgana replied coldly. Her beady eyes fixated on those of Annwn's, and the others seated around her looked away, afraid that somehow perhaps they too would draw the intensity of the deathly glare that graced Morgana's pale face. "I stood at Uther's side while he condemned so many of us. I stood idle…and for that I shall forever loathe myself. Even in Arthur's empty attempt to abolish Uther's laws, I know, in the end, it is for the bettering of Camelot – and not for us."

The hushed room remained silent, as now no one felt the need, nor could muster the courage, to challenge Morgana. Her internal pain resonated with them; they could see the hatred on her face, and knew that this council was not meant for deliberation, but rather one of proclamation. And even though, perhaps, some of those around the table believed that maybe, just maybe, Arthur's intentions were sincere, they did not question.

"Now," Morgana continued, "Since the star fell near Camelot, I'm certain Arthur and his knights will have seen it, and perhaps, may go to look for it."

"They know of its true nature then?" Asked the shadowed man sitting opposite her.

"I do not believe so. I don't see how they would," Arawn said.

"And what if they did?" Gron's heavy voice boomed and echoed off of the stone chamber walls. "Would that not pose a threat should the king know that these stars are markings of a warning?"

"Arthur surrounds himself with close-minded scholars and knights who know little more than how to swing a sword. If the stories prove true though, they may be walking to their doom, milady."

Morgana flashed a chilling grin. "Let them then remain under their shroud of ignorance. For several long years we have anxiously awaited for the time when Arthur's Camelot is at its weakest point. And I tell you now, that time is soon approaching. This star is a sign that the time for revolution is drawing near. What I know, what I have shared, is not a theory – for I am sure of this thanks to Arawn's confirmation; that is why I have decided to resurface. You see, we are connected in a way, Arthur and I, and as Camelot grew prosperous, my power waned. But now… now I have sensed a change on the tides. My power, once stolen from me as Camelot's _mighty _king rose upon his throne, has slowly returned, and I wholeheartedly intend to see to it that King Arthur watches as his precious citadel crumbles at his feet."

Morgana slowly stood from her seat at the head of the table and pulled the concealing hood from her head. The long years of pain and hatred had affected her greatly: her skin, cold as ice, was pale and near-lifeless, a remnant of the fair lady that she once was, and her eyes, beady and black, had sunk deeper into her skull, surrounded by darkening circles that spelled dreariness.

She began to make her way around the table, encircling her guests. As she moved by each one of them, an uneasy chill crawled up their spines.

"Make no mistake about it: we are not a rebellion whose goal is to force the king into lifting Camelot's laws on magic. Those who sit around this table, and all that believe in our cause, do not want his petty, hollow attempts at 'peace'. It sickens me to think that there are those who still believe that Arthur can truly absolve the ban on magic. No, we cannot look to the future and the promises he claims to make, dear friends; we must examine the past and all the pain and suffering that our kind has endured under the tyrannical gaze of the Pendragon crown. And because of that, no longer do I seek the throne of Camelot – I now exist only to bring about Arthur's end and watch his city burn. Then, only then, will we truly be free from his shackles."

"You crave annihilation."

"As long as Arthur lives on, we will never truly be at peace," spoke the shadowed man at the end of the table. "Only when we take our vengeance and restore the balance of the world will all be right again."

Morgana walked until she stood behind the one in the shadows, the blazing fire to her back. She could feel the flames attempt to warm her, but nothing could affect the chill of her skin. "The last time a _fallen star_ was seen was the night of Arthur's birth," she said. "And now, years later, another will mark his death."

The council looked around, each glancing at one another to try and find the one who would speak up first – each trying to swallow what they had just bore witness to. Both confusion and certainty graced their faces, and in truth, some shared Morgana's thoughts without question, but doubt lingered in the hearts of others. Still, though, there was little choice at this stage. The Lady Morgana was a High Priestess, an immensely powerful Witch…and the wrath inside of her that had been building for so long was bubbling to the brim, and would soon spill over.

"We have all been affected by the Pendragon throne, milady," spoke the man of the tail of the table. "I believe I speak for everyone when I say that we hold no objection to all that you have said."

"Aye," agreed Gron, who was followed by Arawn and Annwn. Slowly each member around the table called out, raising their hands into the air in a salute as they pledged their loyalty to the Dark Lady.

"Thank you, friends. You have nothing to fear, as I can guarantee that our kind will rise to prominence once more. Now, return to your chambers for the night. Ride out the storm."

Those around the table ascended from their seats in silence, each making their way through the doorway and filing out into the hall until only two remained in the council room.

"Accolon," Morgana smiled, walking over towards the man at the end of the table and placing her bony hand upon his muscular shoulder. "You have my greatest thanks for allowing us to stay here, in Gaul, whilst we prepare."

"You are truly beautiful, my lady Morgana," he beamed up at her and took her hand in his, gently kissing it, "and your gratitude is much appreciated. But, still, please send my regards to your friend. He has been most instrumental."

"I shall," she said.

* * *

High atop the White Mountains sat a tower of rock carved into the very side of the mountain itself. It was barely visible through the blanket of snow that whipped around in a flurry of blinding whiteness. Far below, behemoth-sized chunks of ice disengaged over and over from the mountain and plummeted towards the earth, smashing down onto the rock and shattering into pieces. The snowy terrain was a desolate wasteland; not a soul, man nor beast, dared to roam in a storm like this. All were huddled up, tucked away in their homes, and anything unlucky enough to be caught in the middle had surely frozen by now.

Near the top of the tower was a small balcony jutting out over the wintery abyss below, and upon it stood a man, young, yet wise beyond his years. He seemed unaffected by the blizzard, and instead gazed outwards through the snow and down towards the direction of Camelot.

With his hands clasped behind his back, he inhaled deeply, breathing in the heavy, cold air, and nodded. Something was coming – he knew it: an imminent feeling upon the very wind which beat against him. Merlin stood without movement, his eyes glowing golden, and knew that the time was fast approaching. Something was coming…something bad.

_The adventure continues…_


	7. The Dead and the Dying

The Dead and the Dying

A flash of red, the glint of steel, and the sound of several distraught voices – the small herd of knights ran quickly back through the dark forest, retracing their steps as they raced against time – that which they did not have. At the head of their company was Arthur, Excalibur gripped tightly in hand, followed closely by Leon and Gwaine, with Percival bringing up the rear, slowed slightly by the weight of Elyan's limp body pulled over his shoulders.

The night was slowly reaching its apex, and was nearly at its darkest. The moonlight no longer illuminated the forest floor, for it had fallen behind massive clouds that inched their way into the heavens. The air had grown still and much colder, and Arthur knew that a mighty storm was rolling off of the mountains and was making its way towards them. A light drizzle had already penetrated the thick branches above them, beginning to wet their clothing and making it treacherous to move without guidance at such speeds – not exactly a fair break from the snow, but they had little choice.

The company had wrapped what remained of Elyan's arm in a torn piece of his cape, hoping that they could somehow stop the bleeding. But their efforts were going without reward. Blood continued to seep from the wound, dripping out upon the ground behind them as Percival charged on, his large muscles beginning to ache under the weight.

Several minutes had passed since the company had abandoned the crater in the forest, but it felt like much longer. Arthur's thoughts were racing at unimaginable speeds, constantly jumping from curiosity and confusion of what he had just witnessed, to concern and fear for his friend's life. Elyan was one of his closest knights, and to lose him would be devastating. He only prayed that somehow, in some way, they would be able to help him survive – if only they could reach the outpost in time.

Their boots smashed into the ground with force, squishing as they sunk in the dampening mud and slowing their pace slightly. Arthur reached out with his sword in hand and sliced upwards, cutting a tree branch from his pathway. The knights ran directly behind him, following their king as he carved his way through the dense shrubbery. The king could barely see mere feet in front of his face, let alone know where he was leading his men. All he could guess and hope for was that they were still on the straight shot back to the forest's edge; he trusted his instincts, his feelings…There was no opportunity to stop and think – they just had to keep pressing forward.

Arthur diced through another thick bush, this one taking more effort than the others; he felt its mighty thorns scratch and tear at his face, but the pain was overruled by his adrenaline. He yelled, feeling its roots and tangling, twisting limbs grab at his heels, but pushed on, as hard as he could, with his team at his flank. Arthur's pace slowed drastically, and both Leon and Gwaine, still following closely behind him, pressed themselves against his back and pushed with all their might, attempting to become a human battering ram.

With the loud snap of one final vine breaking, and suddenly the darkness was no more. The company stumbled out into the clearing, nearly collapsing on top of one another. Percival came out last, his body crying out as the amount of dead weight weighed heavy on him. Quickly they regained themselves, each breathing erratically; Arthur's chest heaved as he tried to suck in big gulps of air.

The sky had grown agitated, and now even more rain began to pelt them without the protection of the trees. The moonlight, although suppressed greatly by the monstrous clouds, now providing enough light for them to gather where they were.

"Up there," Arthur wheezed. He pointed to their right, following the trail they had ventured on upon their first arrival the previous day, and located the silent outpost upon a small hill near the tree line. Arthur surmised that it was but a few hundred yards away, at most, and could feel a small sense of relief through the strain of his exhaustion. "We're almost there."

The company set off in a sprint, powering through the fatigue as they made their way up the path and towards the settlement. Percival winced hard and was barely able to feel his legs. The knight fell behind his friends, trudging along as best he could. The sopping wet soil pulled at his boots, creating even more of a resistance. Even though his knees felt as though they were about to snap, Percival could see the end – the finish line; his eyes locked on the dark gate that was drawing closer.

As he moved, the ground beneath his foot conformed. With one step, his big boot locked in place, held down by the suction of the mud, and he found himself unable to re-obtain his composure. In an instant, he fell, crashing to the soaked earth in a small splash of dirty water. Elyan's lifeless body collapsed behind him, and Percival cried out, feeling an intense, hot pain shoot through his ankle.

"PERCIVAL!" Leon yelled, taking notice of the scream through the distorting sound of the rain. Immediately the others raced back to the fallen knight's side, their drenched armor pushing down heavily upon them, and tried to pull him up. Gwaine wrapped his arms around Percival's chest from behind and heaved with all his might, but stalled when the larger knight cried out again.

"His ankle, my lord," Gwaine said to Arthur, pointing down at Percival's injured foot as he grabbed it tenderly. Arthur took notice of the contorted nature of the joint, and he knew a break when he saw it.

"Okay," the king shouted above the rain. "You and Leon grab Percival, and I'll get Elyan. We HAVE to make it there – we're almost there!"

The two knights pushed their mopping wet long hair from their faces and each pulled one of Percival's arms over their shoulder, lifting him to his feet with a loud grimace. Arthur rushed over and grabbed at Elyan's armor, trying to be as careful as he could in these conditions with his arm, and with the remainder of his strength pulled the body over his shoulder.

"COME ON!" Arthur called.

The hobbling party closed in further, ever so slowly, towards the outpost. Arthur was all but spent, and in the back of his mind feared that he would collapse at any moment. But he knew that his knights, his friends, needed him. The king's core burned with adrenaline – a white hot fire that fueled him.

At last they came upon the gate. Above them, booming shudders of thunder shook the earth, and streaks of lightning danced through the blackness. The rain poured relentlessly, creating a blanket of grey that was nearly impossible to see through. Upon exiting the forest, they had seemingly traded one hell for another.

"My lord," Leon called out as they approached the garrison. "Look, there." The king could barely discern to what his knight was referring, but as he drew closer to the grand doorway, Arthur felt that he knew exactly what Leon had noticed.

The grand gate of stone and wood that stood high before them was slightly ajar, leaving open a small yet significant space. As Arthur moved closer, a feeling of uneasiness grew inside him. Something didn't feel right.

Arthur slowly slipped between the gap in the doorway and made his way inside. As they entered the outpost, the company found themselves surrounded by a strange sense of nothingness. The narrow pathways were abandoned, and no lights seemed to stem from any of the barracks or other small quarters.

"Not a soul in sight," Gwaine noted, once again pushing the hair from his eyes.

Arthur explored further, but could find no sign of life. He looked up earnestly at the sentry posts atop the high walls, in the blacksmith's forge, and a set of beds inside a small cubby that lined the stone wall, but found little more than dampness. Light from any torch was surely extinguished by the storm, and he thought that perhaps the men had been forced inside in an effort to wait out the vicious wind and ever-freezing rain.

"Perhaps they are all in the hall," said the king. He suspected as much, but couldn't shake his feeling. A deathly calm and ominous ambience engulfed them, and the knights soon realized how alone they were outside of the keep. Excalibur held tight at his waist, and Arthur reached down, gripping its hilt just to make sure his weapon was still at his side – for whatever reason he may need it.

It was unlike any other – the sword, so he was told. But these days he firmly believed it to be true. Arthur had seen the true nature of the blade that swung at his belt, and trusted that if ever a situation of dire need presented itself, the magic of Excalibur would seem him through it. And it had, so far.

"Maybe they are," Leon responded. "But after what we've just seen, I feel—, "he trailed off, unable to find the words to finish. The knight then noticed something embedded in the mud not five feet from them. He disengaged from Percival, causing Gwaine to let out a subtle _oomf _as he now took the full weight of his friend, and approached the object.

"What's that there?" Percival asked, wincing once more as his massive form teetered now with only Gwaine's support.

"A blacksmith's hammer," he responded, pulling the forging tool from the thick mud.

"That's odd," Arthur said. "I know these men here; they're some of the finest craftsmen in all of Camelot."

"You're saying they should've not been so careless."

"No," the king replied softly. Arthur took the tool in his free hand and rubbed his thumb against the shaft and head to help cleanse the dirt. His brow scrunched in confusion. "I'm saying they wouldn't have been so careless."

"Sire, we should not linger," said Gwaine. "We must find the others and a physician if Elyan is to survive."

"Yes...you're right," Arthur nodded, setting the hammer down on an anvil, but his peaked curiosity remained.

Followed by his friends, Arthur wiped the cascading water from his eyes and forehead and repositioned Elyan's body atop his shoulder, and slowly began trudging onwards up the muddied path towards the fortified hall at the center of the garrison. Gwaine and Leon limped behind him, trying their best to hold the much bigger Percival upright as they went. But even with his injured ankle, the stronger knight was almost carrying them.

They passed by more empty stations and quarters; everything, every inch, was soaked to the core. As they neared the fortified hall, Arthur couldn't help but wonder of the hammer in the mud. A seemingly worthless or insignificant thing to dwell on, possibly, but it only added to the uneasiness and downright absurdity that surrounded them ever since they had come upon the open gate.

"There it is," Gwaine said as they rounded a corner and the building came into sight. "Home, sweet home. We're going to get Elyan bandaged and a nice, hot meal as we wait out this wretched rain."

"You are the eternal optimist, Gwaine," Percival said in a half-teasing manner.

"You have to be in a time like this."

"Let us pray that we are not too late, friends," came the solemn voice of the king, and his friends' expressions instantly grew serious.

They ascended the stairs and strode forth towards the doorway. The fires of the braziers to their left and right had long been vanquished by the rain, and now only a sloppy soup of ash and charcoal remained.

Arthur pulled hard on the solid, oak door, but was surprised to find it unbarred and easily accessible. He gave his friends an odd look and stepped inside, finally free of the rain, and almost instantly felt something beneath his boot. He looked down, pulling a sword from the ground. The blade had been almost completely shattered, and now only a jagged edge jutted from the hilt. Arthur at once recognized the craftsmanship and identified the golden lion pattern upon the hilt to be the weapon of Captain Ashrim.

"I have a bad feeling about this," whispered Gwaine, again tucking his matted hair behind his ear.

Arthur handed the shattered weapon to Percival and gripped the handle of his own sword. The uneasy feeling grew in the pit of his stomach; something was definitely amiss. "Stay alert," he said.

The company made their way down the corridor, finding it to not be as warm and inviting as it was the previous night. The fiery torches which lined the walls had been put out, and the chill of the storm had seeped in, cooling the stone. At the end was the doorway leading into the grand hall of the keep. Arthur stopped short, leaning forwards but he could not hear a thing.

"Now," he whispered.

With their swords ready to strike, the company sped into the hall, sending the double doors flying back and smashing against the inner wall. Instantly, Arthur and his knights were stricken with a horrific sight. Scattered all about the hall were the lifeless corpses of Camelot's knights. Their contorted bodies were splayed across the elongated tables that ran through the room and were strewed across the stone floor, piled on top of each other like carcasses waiting to be picked clean by the buzzards.

Arthur's mouth dropped into an emphatic "O" as he took in the sight of the slaughter and was dazed by the savagery that lay before him. "Oh, my God," he heard Leon mutter behind him. Gwaine and Percival were equally struck near silent, and although Arthur himself had seen many bodies and many battles in his time, there was little else that compared to such a massacre. The manner in which the knights had been discarded, seemingly tossed about the room, was foreign to the king – he had never seen an invading army do this; such carelessness, such coldness.

"They're dead," Gwaine observed, placing two of his fingers on a nearby knight's neck. "They all have to be."

"Check for survivors," commanded the king. "And any medical supplies that they may have left."

"Percival," it was Leon's voice, "can you sustain yourself?"

"Yes," he responded, trying to balance himself upon his own feet. "I think so." He winced at the pain in his foot, but found it to be strangely tolerable. Gwaine and Leon helped him to the bench and then spread out across the room, searching each and every body for signs of life – but all they discovered was cold, white skin and hollow eyes.

Arthur took this opportunity to lift Elyan from his shoulder and placed his body upon a clear spot on one of the benches near the table. He once more checked his friend, but the condition was of no improvement. Elyan's dark skin had paled; he had lost so much blood, and Arthur feared the worst. The tattered piece of his cape wrapped around his arm was nearly soaked and stained crimson. He reached out with trembling fingers and pressed them against Elyan's neck – moments passed, and Arthur finally felt a light pressure against his fingertips. Elyan was alive, but only just. The king breathed a sigh of relief – they had time, albeit a small amount.

"How is he, my lord?" Percival asked from a ways down the bench. "Is he…alive?"

"Yes," Arthur replied. "But he will die soon."

"And there is nothing we can do?"

"I don't know."

Percival's eyes dropped to the floor; a part of him still couldn't believe what he had done to his friend.

The king took notice of this, but before he could speak Gwaine hustled over to his side. "Sire, no one lives," he informed the king as Leon joined them.

"None at all?"

"No, sire," Leon said.

"And no bandages…nothing?"

"We found the physician lying at the far side of the room. He is dead, too, sire. He had no supplies on his person."

"Dammit!" Arthur yelled, kicking the bench. It was the first time he had had shown any outward frustration. "And what of the captain? The death toll was already too high, and the pain would only increase should they find Ashrim amongst the cold corpses on the floor.

"No, sire," he repeated.

"The stranger part is we could find no wounds," Gwaine added. "It is almost like the life has just left them."

Confusion graced their faces. "How is that possible?" Percival inquired, still tending to his injured leg.

Arthur massaged his temple and breathed a deep sigh – this troubled him even further. "A slaughter like this would have required a considerable amount of men. So why...why then were there no signs of siege upon the garrison?"

Arthur's question went without answer: With a loud pop, the flames from one of the torches hanging in the hall abruptly extinguished. A trail of thick, white smoke emitted from the lifeless torch, waffling up into the cold air. After a moment, another torch went out, and another, each with its own smoke rising high. Arthur and the knights took notice of the anomaly and watched as one by one, each light in the room disappeared with the same poof until they were all but swallowed up by darkness.

"What is this?"

The whispering words had barely passed Gwaine's lips, and in a single moment the trails of smoke pulled themselves towards each other and fused, creating a single mass that hung suspended in the air. From within the cloud emerged the outline of a skeletal face; it pushed its way to the surface, opening its hollow mouth and letting loose a blood-curdling scream that shook the ear drums of the knights, causing them to grimace.

The smoking skull plummeted down through the air, speeding like an unstoppable torpedo towards them. Again it cried out in near-deafening screams.

"DOWN!" Arthur yelled, lifting Excalibur's blade into the air. Gwaine, Percival, and Leon swiftly bowed their heads, narrowly missing the ghostly skull as it passed over them. Arthur twirled his sword, catching the skull with the tip of his blade and slicing through its smoky texture.

The screams suddenly ceased and the spirit dissipated into the night, leaving the knights in stunned silence.

"Was that what I think it was?" Gwaine asked in total disbelief.

Before they could answer, another shriek rang out; it echoed throughout the hall, and another – like a chorus of high-pitched shrills. They seemed to be coming from all over, but it was impossible to tell. The cries disoriented the knights and caused them to cringe; Leon and Gwaine covered their ears in an attempt to muffle the noise, but it pierced right through. "We have to move," Arthur said urgently. "ON ME."

The party huddled close, almost encircling their king. Percival ascended from the bench and limped at their rear with one hand placed on Leon's shoulder to balance himself and the other gripped tight to his axe. Gwaine reached down and pulled Elyan up once more. The clustered group began making their way down the center of the hall, passing by fallen knights as the cries grew more frequent. They seemed to emit from every corner of the grand hall, stalking and toying with them; as soon as Arthur or the others would look towards the direction of one cry, another would spring up from their flank.

The king's heart was thumping wildly, almost a feeling of exhilaration. His temples were pulsing with pain, and every muscle in his body was exhausted – and even with all of the unknown that surrounded them, Arthur had but one goal in sight: survive the night.

"Here!" He yelled, bursting through a small doorway at the end of the hall. They darted down a narrow passageway in single-file; it was much smaller than the entryway that led into the great hall behind them, and the knights were barely able to squeeze themselves through the enclosed tunnel. Percival, in his large and muscular stature, was forced to bend his head, grasping at the stone walls to propel his frame forwards.

The small corridor led them down a winding path deeper beneath the ground and under the keep. They found no light, and so they relied on running their hands against the cold stone to help guide them. As they struggled to find their way through every twist and turn, Arthur hoped that they would not encounter any spirits down here. He feared they would be undetectable, shadowed by the darkness, and the company would never see them coming until it was too late.

At last they came upon a small, spiraling staircase. The sudden drop caused Arthur to lose his balance for a moment; without a footing, he fell forward, but he quickly regained himself and continued downwards. At the bottom was a large room, completely secluded except for one final door. The walls here were lined with flaming torches, illuminating the space so that Arthur could see the wooden door at the opposite end.

"There," he said through heavy breaths, "we must take those." Percival, Leon, and Gwaine took up their own torch. They gripped tight to the wood shafts, prepared to use them should a spirit appear.

"Sire," Leon said, holding out a torch for Arthur.

The king shook his head. "I'll be alright." He gripped tight to Excalibur's hilt. "The cellar lies ahead," he continued, pointing towards the door at the other side of the chamber, "from there we can stock up on any food and escape through another secret passageway. We'll find ourselves on the edge of the outpost, and we'll just have to try and find a way to the next nearest village."

"My lord, I don't know if Elyan is going to make it until then."

The thought of losing his fellow knight and friend stung at Arthur, and now he faced an incredibly crucial and incredibly difficult decision. Should they stay in the tunnels below the keep and risk the same fate as those who laid upon the floor above them, or take their chances and escape under the cover of night.

Arthur swallowed hard. Even though he had lived several years on the throne, and been in a position of power even long before that, time and experience never made these choices any easier. The lives of he and his friends were at stake. How do you weigh the lives of your men?

"We will stay," he finally said, and although his uncertainty filled his brain, Arthur felt a sense of relief. "Perhaps they stowed away medical supplies down here." He glanced at Elyan's body lying lifeless on Gwaine's shoulders. "We cannot let him die like this."

"Will they not find us, Arthur?"

The king gave another stiff nod, almost a solemn sense of acknowledgment that the possibility of their discovery down here was high. "We will do what we can until the morning. We will survive this darkness."

The knights' hearts swelled with pride – this is why they adored their king so. Even in the face of such morbid adversity, Arthur's courageous heart still roared with fire.

"Now then, friends, keep them close," Arthur pointed towards the torches.

Just then, a sudden, subtle noise was heard from behind the door across from them. Almost inaudible, the thump was loud enough to catch the ear of Percival, who stood closest to the door.

He cocked his head to the side. "Sire, did you hear-?"

The noise once again sprung forth from the cellar, this time louder and more distinct. Arthur instantly unsheathed Excalibur, prompting Leon and Percival to withdraw their weapons. The company fell quiet; the only one who was not armed was Gwaine, who, while still carrying Elyan, bore only a torch in his other hand.

Arthur slowly made his way towards the door, lightly placing each step upon the ground and listening through the dead silence for the thud to sound again. He held his blade out in front of him and pressed his ear to the coarse oak.

"Percival," he mouthed, gesturing towards the door.

The larger knight took a deep breathe, filling his lungs with the stale air that lingered in the tunnels and stepped forward with one powerful stride. He lifted his boot off of the ground and kicked it forward, blasting open the door and dislodging it from its hinges.

A loud cry burst from the shadows of the cellar and at once Arthur found himself parrying several strikes as a figure leapt from the darkness. The king raised Excalibur to deflect a blow to his head and reached forth, grabbing the figure by the neck and thrusting them against the wall with his sword's tip pointing at their head.

"MY LORD?!"

Arthur stayed his hand and stepped back, instantly loosening his grip on the person's neck. Before him, clothed in chain and bearing the Pendragon crest upon his crimson cape, was a knight of Camelot. He had emerged from the cellar in an instant, leaping over the threshold at the very moment Percival had kicked in the door.

"Sir knight," Arthur spoke; he was in disbelief.

"My lord, you're alive!" He exclaimed. "We…we feared the worst. H-how did you find me?"

"Calm yourself. You have nothing to fear." Arthur looked into the widened eyes of the knight, and realized as the light from a torch illuminated his face that he was but a boy – no older than seventeen. He reached out to place a comforting hand upon his shoulder and felt the boy trembling beneath his touch. "Are you alone?"

The young man appeared to not have heard his king, for his head slowly turned upwards towards the ceiling, but his fear lied above the ground.

"Sire, did you see them?" He asked beneath his breathe. "Did you find them?"

"Find who, sir knight?" Gwaine asked as he stepped forward towards the boy.

Again the knight ignored the question; he was transfixed on the stone ceiling, his gaze never wavering as he pressed himself tightly against the wall. "I…I…they had no faces. I could not tell. They had no faces," he muttered through quivering, parched lips.

Arthur's stomach dropped. The king could see the fear behind the knight's widened eyes, and shot Gwaine, Percival, and Leon a hard glance – he had heard such a description before.

Leon cleared his throat. "Dorocha."

_The adventure continues…_


	8. The Physician's Apprentice

The Physician's Apprentice

"_Like the dead, they are numberless."_

Arthur rested his head against the cold, stone wall of the cellar. He closed his eyes and tried to slip away – if just for an hour or so. But the terrifying threat that roamed the now-desolate halls above them kept the king rigid. At times he believed he had heard a screech coming towards the cellar, like carefully placed footsteps slowly approaching a door, but found it to be nothing more than his imagination playing devilish tricks on him. Arthur rubbed his forehead with a grimace as he tried to move his legs, but they had now become stiff and strained, tightened by his idleness, and he conceded: he would be granted no sleep this night.

Seated around him in a semi-circle were his fellow knights: Gwaine, who had been able to drift off for a few moments of sleep and now lay against a wooden shelve with his head bowed, and Percival and Leon, both of whom were sliding sharpening stones up the length of their swords and having a quiet conversation that Arthur could not discern. Through the dusted and stacked shelves that cluttered the small cell, on the opposite side of the room from where the company rested, laid the motionless body of their friend, Elyan. Above him hovered a man dressed in chain. He placed his hand on Elyan's forehead and found it warm to the touch.

Arthur had spent the majority of the time they had been holed up with his ears perked, listening hard for any sounds from above. He kept a torch near to his hand as it rested upon his knee, and could grasp it at any moment should the need arise. But the soft clink of metal of the stones rubbing against the steel was making it rather difficult for the king to focus. Arthur took the torch in hand and pulled himself up from the cold floor. "How is he?" The king asked in a hushed voice.

"He lives, my lord," came the soft response.

"And he will survive?"

"Yes."

The king squatted down beside them and leant back against the stone wall. He couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. Elyan was alive. Somehow. He was safe – they all were, at least for now. Yet the tingling uneasiness still lingered in Arthur…

The Dorocha…this was not the first time Camelot had been subjected to their terror. Faceless haunts of the dead – he remembered them all too well, even more so the devastation that they had caused.

"How do you know so much of medicine, sir knight?" Leon whispered from where he sat as he rubbed the stone against his blade, curious – for not all of Camelot's soldiers were so skilled in tending to wounds, especially ones as severe as this.

"Oh, I'm not a knight, sir," the boy responded, trying to keep his voice as low as he could. "Once the garrison fell I thought it best to try and defend those who were left, including Galen. He was my master, you see. I am studying under him. Or…I was."

"We have all lost much this night – and I am sorry," Arthur said comfortingly. "Are you the only survivor?"

The boy stumbled for a moment. "I…do not know, sire. But I don't believe there were others." He hung his head, almost shamefully. "They came in the dead of night, preceded by a chorus of shrills. They darted to and fro around the encampment, striking every fleeing body they could find…I even saw a guard struck from the tower from which he stood." The panic he had felt when the king and his men had found him was beginning to flourish again as flashes of the ghostly spirits flooded his mind.

"Keep calm," the king once again tried to console him. "Tell me your name."

"It's P-Petris, sire. Son of Palan."

"Well, Petris, son of Palan, you need not fear."

Petris shook his head, feeling the safety of the king's words, and continued. "The c-captain pulled as many as he could into the hall and sealed it. The others left outside…I dare not think of it. But they were undeterred. They charged through the doors and swept away people everywhere I looked. Galen instructed me to flee to this cellar where we keep many ingredients for our remedies, but before he could follow me they got him. He fell right at my side…" The apprentice trailed off, his words falling into the silence of the cellar, and for a moment, nobody spoke.

"Do you know what became of Ashrim?" Percival inquired, "did he survive?"

The boy shook his head again: "No."

Arthur's stomach immediately dropped: just hours before he had shared a conversation with the captain, his friend, and now he was gone – wrenched from the world by the horrors of the dead, and now lay as merely one amongst a sea of cold corpses. And as the king averted his eyes, filled with sadness, it was the young Petris's turn to offer his condolences.

"But sire, you know what they are, don't you? You called them by name."

"Yes," muttered the king under his breath as he tried to contain the emotions boiling inside of him. "We have seen them before."

"Dorocha," reiterated Leon.

Petris' heart fluttered with joy. "So you know how to defeat them then," he said anxiously.

"Yes," Percival joined in, "but such a thing is done with a price to be paid."

A price to be paid – the words rang loudly in Arthur's mind, and he was taken back to the sacrifice made the last time these spirits had been released…what it cost, and who caused it…

The knights returned to their swords and silence took over them once more. Several more minutes past, and finally Arthur, as he watched Petris apply another coat of a leafy paste to Elyan's arm, grew curious. "You are an apprentice…yes?"

"Yes, my lord. Why do you ask?"

"Then why were you wearing the garment of a knight?"

Petris let out a nervous laugh. "I thought wearing the armor of a knight would make me braver or more intimidating. It's rather silly, is it not?"

"I don't take your meaning."

"To think that someone like me…someone weak, could put on a suit of armor and think himself brave." Petris stirred the paste in the small bowl, purposefully keeping his back to the king.

"The kids I used to play with in my village, where we would pretend to slay dragons and fight as knights…some of them actually succeeded in doing so. I just wish sometimes that I could…be more." Arthur could sense the pain and envy in his tone, but Petris was quick to assure the king that it wasn't all bad. "Please don't mistake me, sire – I enjoy helping to heal people… But I want something else; something stronger and courageous. But – look at me, I'm not."

"Hmmph," Arthur cocked his head. "Well, may I tell you something as well?"

"Of course, my lord." Petris set his bowl upon the ground and seated himself next to Arthur. It was surreal to him, really, that he was sitting side by side with his king – the man they all talked about.

Arthur placed the dimming torch to his side, allowing the flames to flicker against the stone floor, and began. "When I was much younger than I am now, when I was but a prince that strode the halls of Camelot's citadel, I came across a boy who looked much like you."

"A boy?"

"When I first met him…I believed him to be nothing more than a dunce – a clumsy oaf. And believe me, he was." They both chuckled softly. "And he was so very odd, so quirky, that I thought he might have merely been a village idiot who had wandered into Camelot. But through the years we ventured on many journeys and stood against many threats. There were many instances where I doubted him or rejected his council when I shouldn't have when my life or those of my people were in danger. Yet he continued to stand beside me. _That _is something that makes a person worthy."

Arthur grabbed gently at his armor. "You see, broad shoulders draped in chain mail and the ability to swing a sword does not always reflect courage, strength, and bravery, young Petris. For I have found that true courage rises from virtue – the sheer force of will, and by character. You do not need the title of a knight to do great things. You hold that power inside of you." The king slowly repositioned his hand and placed it over his chest.

"Like him, the one you speak of."

Arthur couldn't help but etch a smile. "Yes, like him."

"You have spoken very highly of this man. Sire, who is he?"

The king paused and opened his mouth – but found that the words could barely come. "He's not here anymore."

"…I'm sorry, sire."

"What's done is done." Arthur's stoic and stern wall re-erected itself, as he had come to instinctfully do when the particular subject was raised.

"But, if you know how to stop them – the spirits – is that what you're going to do now?"

"Yes, I will not let the people of this kingdom suffer again because of the Dorocha."

"It's just…my lord, the garrison has fallen…I have nowhere to go. Could I – would it be alright if, if it pleases the king, I could accompany you?"

Arthur sighed – the boy was sweet and good-natured, but the thought of putting him in harm's way made the king very wary, and what he would think should Arthur decline him only brought a feeling of sadness. "Petris…we're not just going back to Camelot. With everything that has just recently transpired, I know that soon we will be called to defend this kingdom. Such a thing is no place for a young boy…"

To his surprise, Petris remained undeterred. "Those things up there…I am afraid of them. But when I look at you – your knights – and the manner in which people thought of you here, I know that you will stand for what is true and just. I believe, as do many, in the world you are building, and would ask for nothing more than to help be a part of it in any way I can."

Arthur smiled – he had forgotten, it was not always only his knights who were so virtuous. "You speak with a wisdom far beyond your years. Perhaps you are more than a frantic apprentice as we had thought early this night – you remind me of him. I will accept your support…come with us to Camelot; a physician of your skill will be warmly welcomed."

Petris beamed with admiration. "You are as gracious as they say, King Arthur—"

Arthur abruptly leaned in towards him and spoke in an even quieter voice: "But hold close to your heart, Petris. I fear a time of loss is coming to this kingdom, and I'm going to need everyone willing to stand with me."

And even with the threat of the Dorocha above them, Petris' heart could not find fear anymore. "You say that people hold courage within themselves, but I think that perhaps you also instill it in others around you, my king. They have faith in you, and that will draw them to your side as they fight for what they believe."

Arthur, too, found himself relieved of the stress that had fueled him this past night, if only for a moment. "The sun rises in but a couple of hours – you should try and sleep. There is a long journey home ahead of us."

"Yes, my lord."

With a pat on the shoulder from his king, the young physician's apprentice retired to a darkened corner of the small cellar and pulled a make-shift blanket made from a torn sack over him. He sat upon the cold ground and pulled his knees to his chest, and although the air chilled him, Petris found it easier to drift away to his dreams.

* * *

Arthur remained by Elyan's side, sometimes obsessive compulsively looking down over and over again waiting to make sure that his friend's chest rose and that his heart was still beating. And every time, with each small breath, the king felt a sense of relief wash over him. Somehow they were going to make it through the night, and Arthur could hardly believe himself that that was the case. But, he remembered, the night was not without extreme casualty, and he knew that even though they were granted this peaceful respite, it was to be savored and was not to last. Soon the sun would rise and the day would begin anew, and Arthur was ready for whatever that day would bring. He believed, as he had told the young boy, that they would soon have to fight for their lives. But against what?

And even as so many questions spun through his mind – the charred man, the visions, the attacks – there was one thing the young king knew to be true: the die is cast.

_The board is set, the pieces are moving._

Time past in silence, and Arthur's torch was all but extinguished. Percival and Leon had finished their sharpening, and now Arthur could not tell if they were asleep or simply sitting idle. Though, if he knew his knights at all, they would be sleeping with one eye open and two fingers wrapped around the handle of a torch.

The king waited until he thought Petris to be deep in sleep. It was only after he could hear the soft, repetitive snores coming from the dark corner that he returned to his friends and called them around him, nudging Gwaine who awoke with a soft groan, and began to speak.

"What's the play?" Percival asked in a hushed voice as the knights situated themselves with legs crossed.

The king bowed his head. "I'm all out of play. We have to decide what's best from here on out. What we thought we were going to look for has turned into something much, much more sinister."

First Elyan, and now an entire encampment – whoever was doing this, Arthur thought, was trying to break them quickly. And they may have succeeded.

They could contemplate all they wanted, but Arthur knew that they had to concentrate on the familiar devil. "One enemy we've dealt with before." The very referencing of the Dorocha still caused an uneasy wave of tension to wash over their late night gathering, and the company found themselves in a second of silence as they each listened once more for any sound of the spirits. "There's no doubt what we saw in the hall was a Dorocha," Arthur said.

"I thought the Dorocha could only be released through the veil by means of a sacrifice? So this means…"

"Yes," Arthur continued. "Someone has ventured to the Isle and opened the door between worlds once again."

"This will spell great tragedy for the kingdom if the door is not closed, and soon, sire," Leon said.

"I know," Arthur responded. "But as you said, Percival – as we all know – it cannot be done without a price." The king found himself confronted by yet another impossible decision – he would not dare ask anyone, especially his knights, to be the one to close the door.

"I believe an equally curious matter is who opened it in the first place," said Gwaine, but he went unanswered. "Well," he continued, "everyone is thinking it, so I'll just say it."

_Morgana_. The light from their remaining torches flickered, and even in the depths below the earth, in such a place as this, a soft, chilled wind blew through.

Morgana – Arthur had suspected her. After all, she was the one who had helped to open the veil between worlds before. But why now, why again? Throughout the night, back into the woods when he saw _something _in his visions…the memory of his sister crept quietly in the back of his mind. Arthur had tried to silence it, even push it from his thoughts, but her taunts reached him no matter what. And now she had come to the forefront of their discussion. And as much as he didn't want to admit it, Gwaine was right – it made nothing but sense for Morgana to be involved.

Leon sensed Arthur's current inner struggle. "We can only sit around and guess what's causing all of this – we were going to lift the ban on magic but yet know of no one with the experience needed to council us on these matters."

Arthur shot Leon a thankful look at the change of subject. "In years past my father would always seek Gaius' council with regards to magic, but we haven't seen him for almost as long as—"

And Gwaine was struck still, for a thought had entered his mind. "Have you considered Gaius's apprentice?"

Arthur's voice stumbled in his throat, and he found himself leaning towards the wall behind him – physically taken aback at Gwaine's suggestion. The very mentioning of _him _had become something of a taboo subject; hardly anyone spoke of it, namely that one night, and especially to Arthur.

A flash—

_He held the sword high in the air, its tip stretching to the clouded heavens, and spoke words that Arthur had never heard before. They flowed from between his lips with ease and elegance, an incantation – and the king found himself staring wide-eyed at the man who stood before him on the rock – it was his servant, but at the same time, it was someone he had never seen before. His voice bellowed through the ruins, lifting high above the mighty cracks of thunder and whipping winds and up into the sky. The thick blanket of black clouds parted in a seam above them, and through the crackling sky a beam of light descended, crashing down onto the blade of Excalibur with a deafening bang and a shockwave that knocked those around them to the ground; only Morgana, Arthur, and himself remained un-phased. _

_As the rain continued to mercilessly pelt them, Arthur noticed the once-glinting weapon now pulsated with a yellow glow, almost as if it was emanating from within the very blade. The man held it tight within his grasp and felt a surge of energy pump through his body._

"_SEND THEM BACK," the wizard roared above the storm, directing Excalibur's glowing steel towards the Dark Lady. Arthur watched as the sword exploded with magical energy, its yellow glow extending outwards, skittering its way through the air and engulfing Morgana's horde in a blinding light._

_With a loud hiss, the shadows disappeared, and the Dark Lady pulled her cloak tightly around her. The edges of the fabric began to dissolve, dissipating into the night, and she was gone, vanished amidst the storm._

_The light of the sword left the blade, and Merlin dropped the weapon to the ground with a loud clang, and stood with widened eyes with his back to his king – what had Arthur just witnessed?_

"Think of it, friends. It may be the only chance we have of figuring out just what all of this means," Gwaine persisted. But he could tell, by the looks on Percival and Leon's faces, that they were having none of it.

"Surely there are others who know of the Old Religion," argued Percival. This was to him, undoubtedly, a last and unrealistic resort.

"None knew better than Gaius, and since he is not here – it makes sense to look for the one he entrusted his knowledge to. One we _know _knows of the old ways."

Leon turned towards his king. "Arthur, with all due respect, we don't even know if he yet lives. You really think it wise, at this point, for us to go blindly searching?"

"No…he's right." Arthur had remained quiet until now, listening meekly as his friends debated Gwaine's suggestion. The knights, even Gwaine, were somewhat surprised at Arthur's admission. Even the king himself took a moment for the meaning of his words to sink in – after three years, was this the answer? In truth, he had given little thought to the possibility of what it would be like to meet once again – instead opting for refusing to talk about him leaving in the first place. But could this be the time? The memories flooded back once again. _No one can wield it like you can. It was made for you Arthur_.

"_Leave me."_

"_What-?"_

"_No, just – you heard. Leave me."_

"But it has to be just me. I go alone."

The knights, including Gwaine, immediately voiced their objections – after what had just happened, the idea of their king traveling alone did not set well with them. "Sire, if this is your decision then we will follow you. It is not—"

"No," the king said vehemently, and his knights grew quieter. "My friends, please…if this is to be done, then it is my journey to take."

"And you believe he can help – that he would, after all this time?" Asked Leon.

"Look at what's happening out there! People are dying again – good people. The burden of responsibility to keep them safe lands on _us_ –all of us who swore to protect the kingdom; we cannot allow these things to keep happening, and if the only way to do that is to find _him_, then of course I will do that."

Leon felt slightly ashamed for pushing his king on the matter; he knew how difficult it had been. "Aye, sire," he said, and the others chimed in with agreement as well.

Arthur swallowed hard – even though every fiber of his conscious pulled against it, the king believed in his heart that this was it. It was time. "I must find Merlin."

_The adventure continues…_


End file.
